


Rebellion

by sapphyr_raven



Series: Rebellion, Resignation, Revelation and Resolution [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blangst, Depression, Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphyr_raven/pseuds/sapphyr_raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU from season 4 - 'Glease'.  Blaine and Kurt never made-up - Kurt, hurt by Blaine's transgression, cut himself off from his old life and refused any and all further contact leaving Blaine lost and broken in Lima.  This is the tale of how rebellion, resignation, and revelations eventually led to their resolution.  Or - how Kurt saved Blaine from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Anniversary

## Rebellion

_Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being.  - Albert Camus_

### The Anniversary

                The sky is a darkening bruise and the cold seeps into his bones, whipping him as it does the skeletal branches and their fallen golden progeny.  He draws his coat tighter around his frame as he walks; his fingers numb and useless.  The ring on the third finger of his left hand spins freely now as he rotates it with his thumb – another new sensation – cold, unfamiliar and heavy with unspoken symbolism.  They won’t understand – he knows that.  He’s not sure he has the energy to even begin to make them.  To help them.  He’s not sure he even knows where to begin.

 

-+-

 

                It had started at a party Blaine and his brother and he had thrown in honour of their parents’ 30th wedding anniversary.  He had felt eyes on him all evening and he had tried to ignore the sensation – focusing instead on being the perfect host – ensuring his guests had everything they needed and allowing his parents to celebrate.  Cooper had come without a date and so, after making the necessary rounds, had migrated to the bar and a group of predominantly older, single women.  Blaine had rolled his eyes and left his brother to it steadfastly refusing to get dragged into another duet where his sole purpose would be to amplify his brother’s talent and sex appeal.  He was not wholly sure how long he could avoid the inevitable, however, as when she had been drinking his mother was prone to demanding that he perform for whichever company was around at the time.    By the looks of things he had a couple more hours before his mother would be requesting he play the baby grand and then it would become the Cooper Show.  He found himself downing a brandy in anticipation, flinching as it burnt his throat and set fire to his belly.  He watched the couples mingle.

                _Kurt should have been here with me._

A second brandy chased that unwelcome thought away before it became a pity party for one.  A familiar tickle in the back of his mind drew him once again from his thoughts and into the room and the eyes he felt all over his skin.  Crawling inside him, burrowing deeply. 

                _Let them.  They’ll find me wanting._

 

-+-

 

                Douglas Graeme Chambers, 3rd, was undeniably bored.  It was not that he was unused to events such as this – in fact the truth was quite the opposite – it was that Douglas was fed up with the subtext.  He was fed up of being dragged up from his home and friends in New York to be paraded around in the hope that finally, finally, the eldest son of the esteemed Douglas Graeme Chambers, 2nd, would find a suitable wife.  As indeed, his younger brother Roger had done.  It was actually Roger’s fault he was in Ohio for this particular function – Roger had deemed the Andersons’ anniversary party to be the perfect opportunity to introduce his wayward elder brother to his lifelong friend and their social circle.  It was not exactly New York.

                ‘Maybe that’s what you need, Diggsie – fresh blood!’

Yes – homophobic, backwards Ohio was exactly what Douglas needed.  Why had he not thought of it before?

Over the years he had tried, oh, how he had tried, to explain that he was never going to marry – at least, not a lady.  His father was continually disappointed in him, embarrassed even – especially when Roger married, then produced not one, but two, male heirs.  Douglas’ mother eventually gave up trying to “set him up” after none of the “dates” progressed passed the initial “getting to know you” dinner.  If she had not given up on her own Douglas would have eventually simply refused to attend them – ultimately it was easier for her to ignore him and to focus instead on her other son and two grandsons.

Partly due to this Douglas had long ago stopped returning to the family homestead for Thanksgivings, Christmases and other family gatherings – early on he had tired of his mother’s insistence on calling his partners his “friends”.  The pressure and lack of acceptance drove each away eventually anyway.  Not that any had really held his attention in the long-term – he preferred to stay rather cold and distant – a self-defence mechanism so ingrained in his core it was now indistinguishable from his original and true self even to Douglas.  Designed to keep him from getting hurt, designed to keep them from getting too close, to stop them from finding him wanting as they inevitably would.

So, Douglas had been free to stay in New York for almost 15 years, however, his father’s patience had long ago expired.  It was only the fact that, under Douglas’ stewardship and guidance his Grandfather’s business _D.G. Chambers & Sons _of Jermyn Street, London, was also now of 160 W. 71st Street, New York, that he had been granted a degree of privacy and a brief reprise.  However, the impending 70th birthday had reminded the senior Douglas of his own mortality and had ultimately turned the spotlight back on Douglas, who had selfishly not taken the time granted to him to find a wife for himself.  The argument that had ensued had been nasty and had resulted in both men refusing to have anything more to do with each other.  It had taken Roger and their mother’s interference to return the men to speaking terms, stilted and purely business-related as they were.  Douglas had eventually learned the terms of his acquaintance with his family – he was to attend any and all societal events his parents deemed him to, as a representative of the company, of course, and he was to wine and dine any relevant daughters of potential business partners or customers.  Douglas would rather have drunk lead acid, but he was grateful to Roger for his attempt at peace-making – their parents were aging and the last thing any of them needed were regrets.  He had too many of those already.

This party of the Andersons’ was the first of these new additions to his social calendar – Roger’s wife, Adeline, was apparently under strict instruction to introduce Douglas to any suitable ladies (she had, no doubt, been  given clear instructions as to how to determine eligibility by Douglas’ mother).  So far none had kept his attention past a brief conversation long enough to be deemed socially acceptable regarding the unseasonably cold weather, before he excused himself and returned to the bar.

Douglas had, of course, eventually been introduced to Bill Anderson and his wife, as well as their eldest son, Cooper.  There had been mentions of a younger son, however, Cooper had quickly curtailed the conversation and grasped the attention of all involved with an anecdote that had apparently required a lot of wild gesticulating.  Douglas had zoned out quickly and amused himself instead by allowing his eyes to scan, and if he were honest, _judge_ , each of the other guests.  He had met plenty of Cooper’s type before – handsome, high maintenance, and straight as they come.  Anyway, blue eyes had never really done anything for him.  It was then that he saw _him_.  He was old Hollywood and youth – all strength, and lean, long-limbed, limber beauty; broad shoulders and impossibly narrow hips.  Simply put – he took Douglas’ breath away – the boy belonged on film; he was completely out-of-place in a dull dinner party in Ohio.  Douglas was only aware that he had been staring when the youth suddenly met his gaze.  There was a fascinating sadness there – a depth to those golden eyes that was completely unexpected, and he found that he needed to know the story beneath their depths.  Was the youth as fascinated by what he saw?  He could not possibly be so – they were from two completely different worlds, let alone generations.  Douglas knew that he was deemed attractive – in many ways he had improved with age, but that was the first problem right there – age.  This youth could be no older than 18.  Douglas was north of 40 – closer in age to the lad’s parents.  Not to mention the complications of sexuality, the law, societal norms, and a thousand other roadblocks that Douglas’ mind helpfully provided for him.  But that did not stop his heart racing in a way it had never quite done before and Douglas quickly found that he could not seem to bring himself to break eye-contact.  Instead of looking away and returning to the conversation with the Andersons – Cooper had long since left the small group, and Roger was happily discussing something political with Bill while the wives engaged in discussions regarding their sons and the pros and cons of schooling in Westerville versus Lima – he found himself avidly studying the creature of beauty before him.

                ‘Oh, that’s Blaine.’

Mrs Anderson (Douglas berated himself for failing to recall her name)’s voice snatched Douglas’ attention.

                ‘I’m sorry?’  He hoped he managed to sound better than he felt.

                ‘The young man over there that caught your attention – he’s my youngest, Blaine.’

Douglas turned back to find the youth had returned to his previous activities as a host whilst Douglas had been distracted by the lad’s mother.  Douglas regretfully returned his attention to the ladies, suddenly finding himself interested in why the youngest Anderson had fought so hard to transfer schools.

 

-+-

 

                The tall gentleman engaged in conversation with his parents and the Chamberses was looking at him again - Blaine could feel his eyes on his back, his ass, his legs.  He felt nervous and naked, exposed and alarmingly aroused.  He was being appreciated and appraised openly and unashamedly and he really was not used to it - he was still getting used to the idea that he could be deemed “attractive” and worthy of such attention, but the whole thing with Kurt had severely knocked his confidence.  Actually it felt good.  Better than good.  He felt colour rise in his cheeks and saw a smile tickle the corners of the other man’s lips.  Something deep inside Blaine celebrated that he could cause such a reaction.  It concerned Blaine how unconcerned he was that the attention was coming from a man who was clearly his parents’ age.  Instead, the thought that such a man – immaculately dressed, experienced, worldly wise and so evidently wealthy – could be interested in him sent a thrill through him.  He could not bring himself to look too deeply into _why_ that was his reaction – he was pretty confident he would not like what he saw.

When the gentleman finally looked away, distracted by something Blaine’s mother had said, it was as if a trance had been broken and Blaine tried to distract himself by endeavouring to ensure that all the guests in the vicinity’s needs were catered for.  But the feel of the man’s eyes never left him and he found his own meeting the mystery man’s more regularly than would be proper.  That nervous tingle of excitement and arousal built steadily with each minute that passed until Blaine found he _needed_ to flee – to get fresh air – to escape the intensity of this feeling he could not understand.  He fingered his phone in his pocket as he made his way out into the chilled air.  He walked through the garden until he could walk no further and could barely hear the clamour of the party, sheltered as he was by a dense hedgerow.  He fought to regain control with each forced breath of the freezing air.  He could feel the blush lingering in his cheeks and he knew it was not entirely there due to the brandy.  He pulled out his phone, steeling himself and dialled Sam’s number, Sam was after all the only friend he had left at McKinley.  He needed to talk to someone – for someone to talk him out of doing something else extremely stupid -

                _It doesn’t feel stupid._

\- to rationalise it for him.

No answer.

He sighed and returned his phone to his pocket unsure whether the wave that crashed over him was relief, disappointment, or fear.  He watched his breath curl in air before him as he again tried to calm himself down.

                _Pull yourself together, Blaine.  It is probably all in your head.  You haven’t even spoken to the guy!  He’s probably not even interested – why would he be?  He was probably looking at you because your mother was talking about you.  It is possible he was even looking at someone behind you.  You are utterly insignificant and your only purpose tonight is to ensure your parents enjoy their party and so do their guests.  Oh, and to stop Cooper doing something incredibly stupid.  Now, pull yourself together and stop letting what happened with Kurt get to you.  That’s all this is – misdirected, desperate craving for attention.  Now get back in there and do your duty as a son._

-+-

 

                Douglas could not explain the panic that swept over him when he lost sight of Blaine – he felt odd using _his_ name when they had not yet even been formally introduced.  He had not even heard _him_ speak.  All he knew with utter clarity was that he felt bizarrely protective of _him_.  Douglas filed the thought away to worry about what it meant later, for now all he knew was that he had to find _him_.  What if he had missed his chance?  What if _he_ had left the party?  He found himself making plans and coming up with excuses, each more ridiculous and implausible than the last, as to why he would need to call again on the Andersons and their sons.  A firm hand on his shoulder effectively broke his fevered reverie and caused him to jump.

                ‘Are you alright, Diggsie?’

Upon realising the intrusion was merely his brother, Douglas returned to his frantic, albeit stationary searching.

                ‘It’s nothing.’ 

                ‘Doesn’t look like nothing.’  Roger said as he stepped deliberately into Douglas’ eye line – blocking his line of sight with the majority of the room.

Douglas sighed and allowed his gaze to settle on his brother’s earnest face.

                ‘What’s got you all flustered?  I’ve not seen you look so…’

                ‘So what, Rog?’

                ‘Panicked?  Desperate?’

Douglas looked at his brother – really looked at him.  How could he even begin to explain something even he did not understand?  Of course his brother knew the real reason why Douglas had never shown an interest in marriage (to a woman).  Roger knew why Douglas’ enforced dates never went past the first dinner.  It was never something they had discussed.  He had no idea how his brother felt about it - whether he even supported him or not.  All he really had to go on was the fact that Roger had intervened on his behalf in the past – that suggested that Roger was OK with him – at least partly.  Douglas took a breath as he decided on how much to divulge to his younger sibling.

                ‘I was looking for someone.’

                ‘Who?  I hadn’t noticed you spend more than a cursory half hour with any one person this evening.’  Roger turned to look in the direction his brother had last been searching.  Douglas sighed and steeled himself.

                ‘I actually haven’t formally met them yet…’  He allowed his sentence to trail off allowing his brother to garner what he would from the admission.

                ‘Take your eye did they?’  Roger turned back to face his brother – a glint in his eye.  Douglas did not miss his brother’s continuation of the non-gender specific pronoun rather than assuming the feminine as their parents would have done.   Douglas allowed himself to take it as a positive sign – a suggestion of acceptance.

                ‘The youngest Anderson.  I realised that I had yet to introduce myself and I was attempting to correct that fact.’

                ‘Ah!  You mean Blaine.  He’s a sweet young thing – used to go to Dalton with my two.  A Warbler like you were.  Nothing like his elder brother – a bit like you and I in that regard.’  Roger turned to scour the room again and Douglas released a breath he had not been aware he had been holding.

                ‘Used to?’  Douglas grasped the opportunity to find out more about the details behind the youngest Anderson’s battle to transfer to the state school in Lima against his parents’ better judgement and wishes.

                ‘Hm?’  Roger turned to face his brother again.

                ‘You said he used to go to Dalton.  I heard Mrs Anderson and your Adeline skirting around that earlier.  Did the lad do something?’

Roger snorted in amusement.

                ‘Blaine!  Ha!  No.’  Roger met Douglas’ eye and paused.  He was contemplating something – that much was plain.  Douglas frowned.  What could possibly have happened to the lad that could be so terrible as to result in him practically begging (by all accounts) to transfer schools?  What could be so bad that Roger had to debate whether or not to tell his own brother what he knew?  Roger seemed to make up his mind, lowering his voice after giving their surroundings a cursory glance to ensure they would not be overheard gossiping about their hosts’ youngest son.  ‘It was something to do with a boy.  That’s what my Doug said anyway.  Blaine’s friend was being bullied at his old school and so he transferred to Dalton to escape it.  Blaine had experienced something similar before the Andersons had moved here because of Bill’s job – so the lads had a lot in common.’

                ‘So what happened to make Blaine move schools?’

                ‘His friend decided he missed his friends from his old school, or something, and moved back.  Blaine missed him so he followed suit.  Bill was not thrilled at the thought, not after what happened to Blaine at his previous school.’

                ‘What happened?’

                ‘Lad was attacked.  Nasty business.  It was better for everyone that they moved and pulled him out of that place when they did.  Set him back a year.’

                ‘That bad?’

                ‘Kept it out of the public eye though – I think all those involved were relieved when they settled out of court.’

                ‘I’m not surprised that Bill was a bit anxious about his son transferring schools then.  Especially to a state school.’

                ‘Exactly.  He gave in eventually though.  Adeline and I were shocked when they told us – we never thought Blaine would get his own way.’

                ‘Lad should be a lawyer.’

                ‘Ha!  I think that’s what Bill thought too!’

                ‘What of the friend?’

Roger studied his brother’s face during their exchange carefully as they spoke – Douglas, however, kept his face in a careful mask – he had years of practice feigning indifferent interest after all. 

                ‘No longer in the picture from what I’ve heard.  Lad was the same age as Blaine but, of course, after the incident, Blaine was kept back a year so he went off to college while Blaine had to stay in the school he fought so hard to transfer to, alone.  It’s been rough on him, from what I’ve heard.  Bill’s been trying to convince him to go back to Dalton – they would take him back in a heartbeat, even mid-way through the school year.  Kid’s bright.  They’ve been having hell of a time with him though.’

                ‘Sounds like transferring would be for the best – Dalton would look better when his college applications go through.’

                ‘Undeniably.’

Douglas hummed in response.  Roger frowned and placed a hand steadily on his brother’s shoulder as he passed by. 

                ‘Careful, Diggsie.’

 

-+-

 

                Blaine breathed in the heady scent of the last of the winter jasmine as he passed the beds, letting the familiarity of it soothe him.  What on earth was wrong with him?  He was being utterly ridiculous – he was letting his teenage libido get the better of him again.  That was how he ended up sans boyfriend in the first place.  He laughed bitterly at himself. 

                _If only it were as simple as “boyfriend”.  That word was never enough - never could be enough for what we had.  What I ruined._

The sound of someone calling his name caused Blaine to pick up speed as he made his way back to the party.  He gradually made out his brother’s silhouette and waived in Cooper’s direction to acknowledge that he had heard him and was coming.  Blaine was rewarded with a mime and a lot of agitated pointing from which Blaine inferred that he was being summoned to the piano.  He sighed and slowed his pace – a little act of rebellion, even if it was only delaying the inevitable. 

 

                Goosebumps specked his flesh as he re-entered the stuffy warmth of the house filled with too many bodies and the associated mix of colognes, perfumes, alcohol, sweat and cold vol-au-vents that assaulted him.  He managed to mask his revulsion as he made his way obediently to the piano.  His brother had turned off the sound system and saying something that would both draw the assembled guests’ attention to the piano whilst simultaneously making him come across charming and entertaining.  Blaine did not even need to listen to his brother – he predicted the ripple of amusement that jostled the room accurately by the timbre of Cooper’s voice.  Blaine smiled to himself. 

                _Showtime._


	2. Towing the Line

### Towing the Line

                Blaine woke up with a thick head and a sore throat and deems the party to have been a success.  He is pleased for his parents’ sakes - at least they seemed to have enjoyed themselves if the number of times they both had thanked Cooper and himself throughout the latter half of the evening was anything to go by (Blaine suspects that alcohol had a lot to do with that).  The success and appreciation still does not inspire Blaine to actually get up, however.  He rolls onto his side and finds himself face-to-face with numerous framed photographs of Kurt and himself.  _Before_ he would have smiled softly and thought about the instant each one was taken, _now_ however, is not then.  Now, Blaine feels a deep-seated sickness wash over him and he forces himself to roll in the other direction.  He still cannot bring himself to put the photographs out of sight – he cannot bring himself to allow such a semaphore.  Instead he feels the photo-Kurt’s eyes judging him accusingly for destroying their happiness.  Destroying their forever.

                _Enough of that!_

He forces his mind to blank-out.  He has been getting a lot of practice at that particular meditation technique recently and it does not take long until his mind is clear.  He allows his heart rate and breathing to slow focusing on nothingness.  Then on the swirls behind his eyelids.  On eyes.  On eyes on him. 

In his mind’s eye he can see him clearly – tall, distinguished, and undeniably handsome.  His hair is dark, greying slightly at the temples, but other than that there are no more real signs of his age other than the power of his presence.  Such a glamor takes _years_ to achieve.  Blaine finds that he is startled by just how well he can recall the man’s countenance.

                _Well, he was staring at me._

He feels a twinge in his gut that he did not get a chance to meet the man face-to-face.  He realises dimly that he has no idea what the man’s voice sounds like – whether it is deep and smooth, or soft.  Perhaps it is rough with age and too many cigarettes?  He also has no idea what the man’s name was and that thought troubles him more than he expected it to.  He reasons that _someone_ must have invited him and that therefore _someone_ was likely to have checked that bringing a guest would be acceptable beforehand.  Blaine had received no such requests so that left Cooper who was due to fly back to Los Angeles that morning.

                _Crap._

Blaine was out of bed and down the corridor so fast he almost fainted with the rush of blood to his head and was only saved from doing so by his colliding with something solid and angry.

                ‘Jesus!  I’ve not seen you move so fast since you were 6 and I fed you that entire tub of chocolate and that pint of Coke to spite the folks for making me babysit you.  Where’s the fire?’

Normally Blaine would have felt mortified for being caught in such an uncoordinated manner; however, he only felt the giddiness of relief.  Perhaps he was still a little drunk. 

                ‘You!  I’m so glad I caught you!’  Blaine said as he untangled himself from his elder sibling.

                ‘I think _I_ caught you there, Squirt.’

                ‘Semantics.  Anyway – I wanted to ask you last night but we never had time – do you recall a tall gentleman, a bit younger than Dad and far better dressed?’

                ‘Going to need a bit more than that there, Blainers.  I don’t tend to pay much attention to the cut of a man’s suit.’

Blaine frowned at his sibling’s joke at his expense and Cooper poked Blaine in the ribs in response.  Upon receiving what Cooper knew to be Blaine’s “bitch glare” (that Cooper knew for a fact Blaine had stolen from Kurt – not that now was the time to bring that up!  Especially not on a day that Blaine had left his room of his own accord before 10am on a weekend!   Perhaps the moping was over?), he decided to play nicely.  His head, after all, was killing him and he really did need to leave within the next hour or so if he ever wanted to get back home.

                ‘Fine, fine!’  Cooper held his hands up in mock surrender.  ‘I think you mean Douglas Chambers – Roger’s elder brother.  Why do you ask?’

                ‘Oh.  I just didn’t recognise him.  Curiosity I suppose.’

Cooper raised an eyebrow in question, and when it became clear that Blaine had no intention of sharing his thoughts Cooper let out a long sigh.

                ‘Drop the casual act.  What do you want to know?’

‘I was just wondering why we hadn’t met before.’  Blaine barely hid his grin.

‘Ah, the tale of Lord Lucan!’  Cooper winked.  ‘Turns out the black sheep of the Chambers family hath returned!’

Blaine raised an eyebrow in a mirror of Cooper’s earlier expression.

                ‘Douglas and the rest of the Chamberses had a big fall out about 15 years back – around the time Dad and Roger met.  Not totally sure what the deal was but I always heard Roger refer to Douglas as Lord Lucan when we were growing up and so I thought he must have bumped off the nanny or something.  Turns out he just disappeared – no murder.  Really, not that interesting Blainers.’ 

                ‘Yeah.  Thanks, Coop.’  Blaine only managed to conceal his feelings at the findings because he had yet to work out what his feelings actually were.

                ‘Look, truth of the matter is – he’s gay, like you.  15 years ago and in that generation people were a lot less accepting, you know?’

Blaine frowned as he processed what Cooper was telling him.  Cooper seemed a little concerned and cleared his throat.

                ‘Hey – you OK?  You know we all love _you_ , right?’  Upon gaining no response from his sibling Cooper felt the need to clarify.  ‘Exactly as you are.  Blaine?’  Cooper waved his hand gently in front of Blaine’s face snapping his attention back to the conversation at hand. 

                ‘Huh?  Oh.  Yeah.  Of course.  I know that.  Don’t worry – I’m not going to disappear for 15 years or something.  Can’t get rid of me that easily.’

                ‘Good.’  Cooper grinned.  ‘Right, I better head off.  Still got to say bye to the parents – I’ve been avoiding disturbing them for as long as I could but there’s no more putting it off.’

Blaine laughed and gave his brother a sympathetic look.

                ‘I’ll mourn you.’

                ‘Thanks, Squirt!’

He groaned at Cooper’s continued use of the awful nickname and watched as his brother headed towards the quarantined hangover zone.  Blaine slowly headed back into his own room letting the knowledge his brother had imparted churn in his mind.  Blaine had been aware of the stories of Lord Lucan – Uncle Roger’s elusive brother ( _and_ the real Lord Lucan after which Douglas had been nicknamed) - growing up, of course he had.  Like Cooper, he and Roger’s sons (specifically the eldest, originally also named Douglas as per the family tradition but known as “Doug”, who was closest in age to Blaine) had made up horror stories starring the absent and mysterious man.  Never had it occurred to Blaine that the reason Douglas had disappeared was that he had been effectively forced to due to reasons he could no more control than he could his own breathing.  A flash of anger – blinding and brilliantly hot – flashed behind Blaine’s eyes at the thought, chased quickly by shame at his childhood self and frustrated despair at the injustice and stupidity of society.  There was something else – something ticklish that Blaine could not put his finger on too.  It was something to do with how the man had been looking at Blaine.  He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts and resolved to make up for his childish stupidity - the fact that Douglas was:

  1. highly unlikely to know of his own nephew (and said nephew’s childhood friend)’s unfortunate misunderstanding of Douglas’ situation
  2. not likely to actually care



was not relevant.  This was something he felt he had to do.  He was not exactly sure _how_ he was going to make it up to Douglas – he was not about to try to _explain_ why he felt bad or anything, no – that would be horribly embarrassing, however, he figured he would know when he met him.  Therein lay the first challenge – meeting Douglas.  Perhaps now Douglas was seemingly reacquainted with his brother’s family he would be around more?  Blaine smiled – the answer was obvious – he needed to reconnect with Doug.

 

-+-

 

                He wakes to the ghost of a melody – rich baritenor harmonising with fragments of half-recalled piano phrases.  He struggles to recall the exact song but he remembers the quality of that voice with striking ease.  Douglas cannot seem to get it out of his head – not that he has really tried.  The opposite could be said to be closer to the truth; presently Douglas forgoes even the radio lest he should accidently erase the perfection that was Blaine’s singing voice from his memory.  Douglas had always been keen on music – he had been a Warbler when he had attended Dalton, and had continued to sing with choirs until he graduated from college.  After that life got in the way a little, as it often does, and Douglas had put all of his effort into expanding the family business into New York.  Any method of escapism was better than none at all, he muses.  However, he had missed the way life music could move him – how the soul could be tapped and how it could transport you with it on a journey of emotions.  Yes, Douglas had missed music, but he’s not wholly sure that is entirely the reason he is obsessing over keeping that specific memory.  In truth, the more he had learnt about the youngest Anderson the more he had found he wanted to know.  He was fascinated by the boy’s tenacity and bravery – he had not missed the thinly veiled reasons behind why _Blaine_ had been beaten by bullies, why the case had been settled _out of court_ , why Blaine had transferred schools for _a boy_ who was going through something similar.  He had become so finely tuned to the nuances and ways people discussed his “situation” and those of similar “persuasions” without actually _discussing_ it over the years – he thought he had probably encountered every variation at one time or another.  So he had not missed the insinuation – Blaine had been bullied because he was _different_.  Because he, like Douglas, was gay.

So, it was not hard for Douglas to find that he sympathised with the boy.  He had spent the remainder of the party utilising the fact that no one really knew who he was or anything about him and the fact that the alcohol had been flowing rather freely (after Blaine and his brother had been swallowed by a gaggle of drunken aunts and uncles all begging for requests, effectively removing the possibility of an actual meeting) tactfully finding out everything he could, such as -

-          Whether Blaine was “out”:

‘Oh!  Yes – we met the boyfriend.  Not sure what happened there – can’t say we’re that surprised though.  The boy was as obvious as Liberace!’

-           What his parents’ responses had been:

                ‘Bill was a bit unsettled.  I mean you wouldn’t think it to look at him would you – that he swings that way?  I mean, he’s always been into football!  You know what I mean, right?  Not that there’s anything _wrong_ with being that way these days.  Well – so long as you don’t live in Russia – right?!’

-          And whether Blaine had any “like minded” adult friends:

                ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so!  Not in _Ohio_!’

Douglas had had to bite his tongue on numerous occasions, however, his attempts to garner more knowledge had been fruitful and he had eventually left the party for his hotel room with a plan beginning to form.  Blaine clearly had no one to talk to about being a gay man in the 21st century, let alone, about being a gay _teenager_ in _Ohio_ of all places.  Perhaps the last scotch had been one too many but Douglas had decided that he would stay close by for a couple of days longer than he had originally planned – after all, he had not yet spent much time getting to know his nephews – the last time he had seen little Doug the lad had been barely 4 years old, and the youngest had not even been born.  Yes – he would stay and spend some time with the family.

                He had stayed for 3 days in the end and had returned to New York with more information about young Blaine and a strange compulsion to still know more.  It was this revelation that had led Douglas to leave in the end – Roger had started to question Douglas’ interest in the youngest Anderson and Douglas had no real answer for him besides ‘I find his tale compelling’ and the unspoken _and so similar to my own_.

Doug had known Blaine since they were young – their fathers knew each other from business and so the kids had practically grown up together even though they had attended different schools.  After Blaine was attacked (apparently the brave lad took another gay friend with him to a Sadie Hawkins Dance and some Jocks had taken exception to the pair) Roger had suggested Blaine be transferred to Dalton Academy – known for its no tolerance policy on bullying.  Hence, Blaine had come to attend Dalton with Doug.

The more he had spoken with Doug, the more Douglas had come to like his young nephew.  The lad was built like a granite block and, as such, looked like your typical jock – nothing like either Roger or his brother; however, Doug had inherited the family “cow” eyes – huge, dark and expressive.  Doug had openly joked about how he had known Blaine was gay since they were kids – before even Blaine had really.  Blaine had apparently developed a crush on Doug one summer and had coincidentally discovered a love for football around the same time Doug had been picked for the local team.  The lads had spent hours over the long summers of their childhoods throwing around the ball – at first Doug had been cautious about being too rough with his friend but soon discovered that though Blaine was tiny: boy was he fast!  Inevitably, Blaine’s crush had faded as quickly as it had appeared and Doug still ribbed Blaine about _why_ he knew so much about football.

The topic eventually turned to Blaine’s current schooling dilemma – stay at McKinley or return to Dalton.  Doug was all for Blaine’s return to Dalton and launched into what sounded like a pre-prepared speech about the merits of a private education over a state-funded one.  Douglas encouraged Doug avidly and when he thought about it later he felt a degree of comfort on behalf of the youth that Blaine has at least one real friend with his best interests at heart.


	3. Dalton Redux

### Dalton Redux

                He did not actually meet up with Doug until over a week later as things had picked up a little at McKinley.  It was Tina that inadvertently nudged Blaine back on the path to reconciliation with his childhood friend.  She had spent most days hinting none so subtly (and sometimes just straight out bluntly) whether Blaine had been in contact with Kurt.  Part of him wished she would just find a boyfriend to distract her so she was not focused on his train wreck of a love-life and be done with it.  Truth was that he had tried on numerous occasions to talk to Kurt since he and Rachel had left after the Grease performance, but each text went unanswered and each call went through to voicemail.  Blaine was starting to get the hint.  He did not exactly blame Kurt for wanting nothing more to do with him.  Not after what he did.  Blaine had started referring to Kurt as his ‘”ex” in an attempt to discourage Tina, but it was really because saying Kurt’s name brought a lump to his throat.  “Ex” was easier.

Ultimately it meant that he was unable to really talk to Tina about what the break-up was doing to him, and aside from Sam (who he had really only started to hang out with more since they ran together for Class President and Vice), he did not exactly have anyone to talk to.  Cooper had been no help – not that they had really had much time to just _talk_ with planning the party.  He found that he really needed a friend.  A true friend.  Sure, he had the rest of the New Directions but they all seemed so wrapped up in their own dramas, and he could not exactly talk to Finn…  So, Blaine had text a number he really hoped still worked.

Doug had replied almost instantly by calling and they had ended up arranging to meet at the Lima Bean café after each of their respective after-school rehearsals finished – football (of course) for Doug and Glee for Blaine. 

He had spent the rest of the day feeling a little more positive and had actually rather enjoyed chairing the Secret Society of Superheroes Club (even managing to mostly keep his cool when Tina text him on his “Night Phone” to ask _again_ about Kurt).  That was until they had discovered that the Warblers had stolen the New Directions’ Nationals trophy.  Blaine had taken the theft personally – the Warblers had been his friends, even if things had been strained since he left (not to mention the rock salt slushie incident which almost cost him his eye).  Still, he had thought that the theft was simply a cheap shot below the belt to ruffle the competition.  He had not expected to find a new captain of the Warblers, Hunter (who was a tad dramatic even for Blaine’s taste), and he had certainly not expected to discover that the theft had actually been a ploy to try to coerce Blaine into re-joining the Warblers.  He had been caught off-guard by Sebastian, Nick, Jeff and the others encouraging him to sing with them again.  It had been so easy to slip the familiar blazer back on, and to fall in-step with friends – their voices supporting his, their movements including him.  He ached to feel something similar with the New Directions – but if anything he felt further from them than ever with each new addition to the group after the success of the musical.  Blaine had managed to politely refuse the Warblers but the entire incident weighed heavily on his mind throughout the day and the next, and his mood had darkened by the time Glee practice began.  He found himself growing agitated with Finn’s fumbling during rehearsals.  He kept hearing Hunter’s voice

_“Don’t you think it’s time you came back where you belong, Blaine Warbler?”_

That was the question really – where did he belong?  His parents had noticed how miserable he had been lately and had jumped on the opportunity to attempt to persuade him to transfer back to Dalton.  His father had even made enquiries.  But to Blaine it felt like quitting.  Like running away _again_ – and he could not give in. 

                _What would Kurt say if you just ran away like you always do?  You’re such a hypocrite – you told him to have courage yet you have none._

Finn’s attempt to awaken the competitive spirit of the group by referring to Sectionals as an “epic battle” brought Blaine back from his thoughts, but he could not bring himself to cheer or clap with his team mates.  The speech had inspired nothing in Blaine – Finn looked like a lost boy struggling to tread water not the strong leader Blaine yearned to get behind.

As he drove to the Lima Bean that evening Blaine had purposely decided to keep all thoughts of Glee, Dalton, the Warblers and Kurt from his mind.  The objective was to catch up with an old friend - nothing more.  Not this time, at least.  Perhaps he would even be able to find out about Doug’s uncle and why he had suddenly reappeared – the mystery behind the endless possibilities distracted Blaine enough that by the time he pulled up and headed inside he was in a better mood.

                Talking with Doug was as easy as it had always been – they talked about football and Doug’s plans for graduation.  Blaine skirted around the topic mentioning briefly ideas of performing arts schools in New York – apparently he said something wrong because it triggered a tirade from Doug about the Arts changing nothing and how the only way to change something these days was to go into Politics or Law.  Doug had been one of the first people Blaine had come out to and he had always maintained their easy friendship.  Nothing had changed.  Well, aside from Doug’s growing interest in gay rights.  Blaine had forgotten how much he missed debating politics with Doug – they had used to rail against the stupidity and intolerance in the world – spending hours putting the world to rights.  As the topic took a turn in that direction Blaine relaxed, thinking that Doug would drop the subject of what Blaine was going to do after graduation as he simply lacked the energy to fight.  He was wrong.

‘You care about gay rights, yeah?  Then _do_ something about it - be a politician or a lawyer!  Go back to Dalton, use the Old Boys’ networks, and get in there – where the decisions are made.  Where the power is.  No one’s saying you can’t still sing and perform, B.  But no one is going to make the changes we want to see in this dumb world unless we try ourselves.  You’ve always been the smart one.  You know I’m talking truths here.’

The words stay with Blaine for the rest of their catch-up even when the topic falls back into easier subjects like the latest films.

He spends that night staring at the ceiling, unable to stop Hunter and Doug’s voices circling his mind like sharks.

                Blaine zones out of the next Glee rehearsal barely paying any attention to the newer members’ duets and petty feuds.  He spends the day in a dark battle with himself – is going back to Dalton really running away if he is doing it to make a difference for future generations?  Is longing to return to a place where you are wanted, accepted and appreciated – where you feel at home and belong – cowardly?

By the time he gets home that evening he knows what he needs to do.  He talks to both his parents, and is relieved (but not exactly surprised) to find they whole-heartedly support him.  He expected to feel better but he still finds a weight in his chest when he thinks about breaking the news of his transfer to the older members of the New Directions.  He made a pact with Finn to back him up and he hates to break it – but he knows deep-down that he is making the right decision.  Doug is right – he needs Dalton on his record, he needs the Old Boys’ network, and he needs the status Dalton holds to have the best shot at really making a difference in the future.  It still does not make the conversation easier and Blaine knows Finn will take it as abandonment – as Blaine running away.  It feels like he is breaking up with Finn, as ridiculous as that sounds.

He manages to find Finn alone with Mr Schuster’s mock-up of the set, choreographing.  Well – attempting to at least.  Blaine comes clean about singing with the Warblers and tries to keep the conversation to how Blaine misses his friends there – avoiding any potential to accidently insult Finn by implying McKinley is not a good enough school.  Blaine is right though – Finn does not understand – he thinks it is about Kurt, and it is in a way; Blaine’s not stupid enough to think that it is not.  So he plays the Kurt card once his initial tactic fails – it is not as if it is not partly true so he does not have to act too hard to try to help Finn understand.  Finn has, after all, recently experienced his own break-up so this is at least a concept he can understand.  The discussion is messy and Blaine wanted it to be neater – he had a speech planned and everything, but in the end the result is the same. 

When he recounts the tale to Doug afterwards Blaine vaguely recalls calling the Warblers his “birth right and destiny” which results in his friend cackling for a good ten minutes uncontrollably.  Blaine is sure he catches the words “dramatic”, “ass”, and “priceless” but he cannot be 100% certain. 

                ‘If it helps – you’re doing the right thing, B.’

                ‘I know.  It does help though.  Thanks.’    

                ‘It’s going to be so awesome to have you back.  When do you start?’

                ‘Monday.’

                ‘Sweet.  Any plans for the weekend?’

                ‘What are you suggesting?’

He hears the huff of Doug’s breath down the line.

                ‘I thought you could come up to Dalton and we could have a kind of “Welcome Home” celebration…?’

Blaine laughs and he feels so much lighter.

                ‘That would actually be really nice.’

His face hurts from smiling as they sign-off and Blaine places his phone back in his pocket as he heads towards his locker – only one thing left to do.  His smile fades slightly as he empties his locker into the small box – his life at McKinley takes up so little room.  He almost walks into Sam as he finishes up.  He wonders how Sam found out so quickly and a part of him admires Sam’s optimism but he notes the pleading edge to his voice as he asks whether Blaine’s transfer is part of some master plan to get the trophy back from the Warblers. 

The conversation with Sam shakes Blaine more than he thought it would.  Like Finn, Sam assumes that Blaine’s transfer is really about Kurt and Blaine somehow ends up telling Sam about cheating on Kurt and how he felt immediately after he knew he had destroyed his relationship.  Blaine feels the hurt, despair, guilt and frustration he had been keeping at bay (barely) for weeks bubble up as he talks and marvels at Sam’s simplistic view that he has to move on.

                ‘That’s exactly what I am doing, Sam.’

                ‘Then why does it look an awful lot like running away?’

The words seem more real out loud and Blaine breaks.  Sam knows he said the wrong thing and immediately tries to back-pedal but Blaine cuts him off.

                ‘I’m not running away, Sam.  I’m going _home_.’

                ‘But this is your home - _here_.’

                ‘Sam, I appreciate it – I really do, but I need to do this for me.  OK?  I came here for Kurt and at the time I told him that I was doing it for him but deep-down we both knew it was because I wanted to be close to him.  Anyway – it’s already done.  The paperwork went through this morning and I start on Monday.’

                ‘Dude, you got to give me one day – one day to show you you belong here.’

                ‘It’s done, Sam.’

                ‘So you really are going to just walk away?’

                ‘I have to.’

                ‘I don’t buy it.  You’re a good person, Blaine, and exiling yourself to Dalton is not going to fix anything.’

                ‘That’s the point.  I’m not trying to fix anything – I can’t fix it.  I tried.  All I’m doing is going back where I belong.  Goodbye, Sam.  Rule wisely – don’t forget you’re the president now.’

It takes more strength than he thought he was capable of to turn away and walk to his car.  He half expects Sam to follow – or perhaps Tina or one of the others – for someone to fight for him to stay.  No one follows him.

                By the time he gets home he feels drained – technically school was not supposed to finish for another couple of hours so he is home alone and his mind is buzzing as it replays each conversation.  Analysing.  Torturing him with how he could have handled things better – what he should have said.  He groans in frustration.  He dials Kurt’s number before he even processes that he _cannot_ anymore – it was his default action for so long.  He counts it as a punishment now every time his call goes unanswered – another tick against the list in his mind declaring him pathetic and unworthy.  The click as the call is accepted on the other side causes his heart to leap into his mouth but it is Rachel’s voice on the other end.

                ‘Stop calling, Blaine.’

One sentence and then the line goes dead.


	4. The Faint

### The Faint

                He laughs at the thought that transferring back to Dalton was running away – in truth it is so much harder than he imagined.  Whereas in McKinley it was the choir room and the auditorium, here it is the curving stairs, the wood-panelled rehearsal rooms, the little coffee shop…  It does not matter where he is – there is always a little part of Kurt there that he cannot escape.  The only difference in that regard is that, back at Dalton, he has a lot more distractions.

Blaine’s return to the Warblers is hugely ceremonial and the party they throw him in conjunction with Doug is spectacularly over the top.  Hunter has them salute him and Blaine, red-faced, has to plead with them to never do that again.  At first everything is heightened – everyone goes out of their way to welcome Blaine back into the fold and to reassure him that none of them think he will turncoat again.  Blaine supervises the handover of the trophy back to the New Directions and is unsurprised when he receives no warmth in return.  However, he finds he misses the self-expression that the lack of a uniform at McKinley had granted him – he laughs now at how intimidated he had felt at having to choose his own outfit each day (regardless of what Cooper says – Kurt only _helped_ at first!).  The uniform at Dalton feels like a second skin but he finds he has outgrown the need to blend into the background – he has no more need for the unanimity and no real desire to conform.  He thinks that he is beginning to truly understand Kurt’s frustrations with Dalton now and he finds the whole thing a little hilarious.  He conforms though, because it is required of him and it is the right thing to do.  He acts the poster boy as he is expected to.  He concentrates on his grades and sends off applications to the big colleges – he chooses law as his major.

Sectionals approaches fast and Blaine ensures that they go through the motions of open auditions (even if the result does not change) – he feels the he is somehow honouring Kurt to do so.  That he is somehow making a difference.  He gets on surprisingly well with Hunter at first, however, he quickly grows frustrated that Hunter is merely placating him by letting Blaine hold auditions and going with any and every song Blaine suggests.  The tension bubbles beneath the surface until Blaine snaps first – he had enquired after Trent’s absence from the group and upon receiving no satisfying answer he had sought him out.  Trent had told Blaine about Hunter’s steroid regime and Blaine had immediately singled out first Sebastian, then Nick, then Jeff, to corroborate Trent’s story.  When Blaine confronts Hunter it all blows up so quickly that the assembled group is stunned into silence.  Hunter throws the first punch and Blaine, thankfully, has the presence of mind to force his fists down and exit the room rather than knock Hunter down and out as his body screams for him to.  It is Sebastian who follows him first, though the others quickly follow.

Once they had cooled off Hunter approaches Blaine and steps down as the leader of the Warblers.  The assembled members elect Blaine as his successor without hesitation and as his first act Blaine puts a blanket ban on all performance enhancers and accepts the role, but does not expel Hunter to much confusion and surprise.  Afterwards, Hunter approaches Blaine in private and thanks him, and Blaine feels able to breathe a little easier for the first time since returning to Dalton’s halls.

                As the competition approaches Blaine finds that he has less free-time to spend with Doug – he feels the familiar flutter of guilt in his gut and endeavours to make more time for his friend.  Doug suggests he simply hang out with the Warblers more – one or two of them are on his team as it is anyway.  Blaine finds it a little strange to see his worlds colliding and stranger still to think that now, Doug, Sebastian and Hunter could all be lumped together into the ‘best friend’ label.  The four spend most of their time together – either in the same classes, hanging out after practices, or simply relaxing at one or the others’ house playing video games or watching movies.  Blaine feels the tension start to leave his shoulders.  He starts to relax.

 

-+-

 

                ‘You smile more now – it looks good on you.’

Blaine raises an eyebrow at Sebastian as he reaches across Hunter for the popcorn.

                ‘You coming on to me again, Bas, because I thought we were past this?’  Blaine grins as Sebastian throws popcorn at his friend’s head.

                ‘No.  You are far too high maintenance for me.’

Blaine mock-acts shocked hurt and Hunter cracks up with laughter as a popcorn projectile hits Blaine square in the pout.

                ‘Hey!  Watch his eyes, Bas!’  Doug joins in and throws popcorn back at Sebastian in defence of his friend.

                ‘How many times are you going to bring that up!  Geez!  I _still_ feel awful about that!’  Sebastian grimaces.

Blaine laughs good humouredly as Sebastian aims for Doug whilst clocking Hunter right between the eyes with his own shot.  Hunter growls.

                ‘Oh, that’s it!’

Hunter pins Blaine in a fluid movement knocking the air from his lungs – not that Blaine could breathe through the laughter before anyway.

                ‘Bas – grab the bowl!’  Hunter shouts over his shoulder as he holds Blaine’s wriggling body against his.

                ‘Doug!  Help!’  Blaine manages to get out but he knows it is pointless when he realises Hunter’s plan.  ‘You’re just going to watch aren’t you?’

Doug laughs and nods as Sebastian pours the contents of the bowl over Blaine’s head. 

 

-+-

 

                Douglas hears from Doug about once a week – it’s nice to slowly get to know his eldest nephew and he finds they have a lot in common.  He thinks Doug gets as much out of the conversations as he does, at least he hopes so.  He’s glad he can act as a mentor for him – an adult friend.

Of course it has nothing to do with the fact that Doug spends so much of the conversation waxing lyrical about Blaine – how he transferred back to Dalton on Doug’s advice, how he re-joined the Warblers and broke Hunter’s rule of tyranny and then unified them once more.  And today - how he and his friends had a popcorn fight whilst watching a movie and how pleased he was that his friend actually seemed happy again – so far removed from the shell who met with him in the Lima Bean.  No, learning about Blaine was just a happy side-effect.  Douglas was just happy to learn that Blaine seemed to be back on track.

Douglas spends his free time, little as there is of it, at the branch of the Old Boys’ club in New York – he reacquaints himself with school friends on a nostalgic whim he blames wholeheartedly on his young nephew.  He slowly gets to know each old chum again – what they do now (generally they already know what Douglas does), how their health is, significant others, etc.  All the usual small talk he used to balk from and had no time for before.

Doug pressures Douglas to join his family for Thanksgiving, reminding his uncle that it is rapidly approaching – it had been so long since Douglas celebrated that he accepts on the spot – on the proviso that he confirms with Roger first.  Doug’s childish _whoop!_ fills Douglas with a bubbly feeling he cannot wholly explain and it only grows when he hears the invite repeated sincerely from his brother’s lips.

                So it is with an odd feeling of lightheaded-heaviness that Douglas arrives the evening before Thanksgiving at his brother’s house, and so was present when Doug received a call at the dinner table on the day itself.  Doug had kept on about his desire to support his friends at their competition but his mother and father had put their feet down.  Douglas had felt bad for the boy and Doug’s nervous anxiety and anticipation as the time for the performances to start came and went that when his phone went off even he jumped.  The gathered adults had quickly given Doug permission to leave the table to take the call – Douglas supposes they could not have been as immune to Doug’s jumpy energy as they had seemed. 

When the youth returns to the table he looks pained and his half-mumbled ‘they won’ does nothing to explain the terrible crashing sensation Douglas feels in his chest.

 

-+-

 

                Blaine feels as if he is soaring as he leaves the stage surrounded by equally buzzed and sweaty friends.  He urges his team to be quiet as they creep back into the auditorium to take their seats to watch the rest of the competition, and he pretends the tickle in his belly is residual nerves from his own performance and not for his old colleagues the New Directions.

The New Directions finally take their positions and Blaine notices both Sebastian and Hunter staring at him.  He tries to ignore them but he knows that they can probably hear his heart hammering in his chest.  As the music begins a ripple of mixed emotion flows through the audience – the song choice is bold and Blaine wonders how Finn managed to convince the group to go with it.  Tina and the others do a good job of the song and Blaine is mildly surprised by Jake’s dance skills – he manages to keep up with Brittany, however, that’s when everything goes wrong.  Marley faints and Blaine is on his feet and running towards the choir room where he knows everyone will gather before he can process that he is moving.  He doesn’t feel Sebastian’s fingers on his arm or hear Hunter shout for him to come back.  He blindly runs, making it to the room as the majority of the New Directions do with Marley.  He hears Kitty ask if anyone has something Marley can eat.

                ‘I may have a juice box!’  Blaine has seen performers pass out due to exhaustion before – it is not uncommon so he usually has something on him in case of emergency.  He turns to run back to find his bag and almost collides with Finn.

                ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

                ‘Helping.’  Blaine feels Finn use his height and subconsciously squares himself in response.  He mentally berates himself for running in to help his competitors blind.  He should have known he was not exactly going to be welcomed with open arms even if he was only acting out of concern.

                ‘We don’t need your help.’

                ‘Finn, just let him get the damn juice.’  Blaine should have known it would be Sam to come to his corner.  He walks around Finn and sees Hunter and Sebastian – Sebastian is holding the juice box in question and he wordlessly passes it to Blaine.  His friends’ expressions are hard to read and Blaine just nods his thanks and then passes the drink to Sam.  He thinks he sees a flicker of something in Sam’s eyes but the blonde turns to help Marley before Blaine has a chance to identify it.

                ‘There.  Thanks for the juice.  Now go.’  Finn’s voice is not as calm as he evidently tries to make it and it is only then that Blaine realises that not only the rest of the New Directions are staring at him – but also the old New Directions: Mike, Santana, Quinn, Mercedes – they are all looking right at him. 

                ‘You should go, Blaine.’  Mike’s voice is soft but firm and somehow Blaine finds it in himself to re-join Hunter and Sebastian in the hall outside.  As soon as he leaves the room the spell is broken and the New Directions return to their panicked fussing over Marley.  He hears a few voices rise and swears that he catches Sam’s voice over the others.

                ‘He was only trying to help!’

Sebastian’s hand on his shoulder is firm and strong and guides Blaine back to auditorium and their seats.  They sit in silence for a while as the auditorium gossips of the scandal they were witness to around them.  Blaine prays that the New Directions get back on the stage to finish their set but they never do and the Warblers are announced the winners.

The bus ride home barely contains a furious buzzing that only grows as they get closer to Dalton.  Sebastian and Hunter remain eerily quiet and a tight knot of dread settles in his gut.  He is not surprised when it is Hunter that beckons him to follow him into a side room as Sebastian leads the others into their rehearsal rooms to celebrate – even if it is in name only.

Blaine forces himself to meet Hunter’s eyes and is surprised to see pity in them.

                ‘I’m sorry that they reacted like that.’

Blaine knows Hunter is referring to the scene he witnessed between the New Directions and the captain of the Warblers.  He sighs.

                ‘Yeah – well, I made my bed.  I just didn’t think.  I should have just stayed in the auditorium with you guys.’

                ‘Yeah, you should have.  But you’re a good man, Blaine.’

                ‘I don’t exactly feel “good” right now.’

They settle back into silence – it still feels heavy somehow and Blaine absently watches dust particles as they spring free from the sofa Hunter drops into.  His legs are heavy and he collapses next to Hunter – all fight drained from him.

                ‘I’m sorry we all forced you to choose.’

Again, it is Hunter who breaks the silence.  Blaine shakes his head sadly but says nothing.

                ‘You can’t make everyone happy, Blaine.  You cannot be friends with everyone.  Eventually you have to choose.  I’m glad you chose us.’

Hunter stands slowly and leaves Blaine alone in the room.  He sinks further into the supple leather and breathes in the scent of beeswax.  It used to feel like home. 

 


	5. Spiralling Snowflakes

### Spiralling Snowflakes

                He sits surrounded by manuscript paper in front of the piano in the practice room – his face is marred by the frown of concentration and his shoulders are hunched.  He taps a pencil against his teeth as he experiments with a phrase on the ivories.  Once he is happy with the sound he scrawls the notes across the paper and moves onto the next section – it needs to be perfect.  Their chances of winning Regionals depend on it. 

After their win at Sectionals (Blaine does not really consider it a win – they pretty much won by default) he will be damned if he does not give it his all so they have best chance of getting through to Nationals.  He could not find an arrangement he was happy with for the number he thinks they should open with so he sets about creating his own version.  It proves a good distraction really – his friends had been treating him a bit like bone china and it had been driving him crazy.  At least this way he has a reason to spend time alone in peace without Doug, Sebastian and Hunter’s constant _looks_.  Blaine rolls his eyes, drops his pen onto the music stand, and stretches his arms and shoulders out wincing at the audible clicks and pops from his tortured joints.  He yawns and he glances at the gilt clock on the mantelpiece – 8pm, he decides to give it another hour and then he’ll head home.  He spreads the slightly crumpled pages of manuscript paper out and plays through the score, pencil held loosely between his teeth.  It takes him longer than perhaps it should to detect the gentle hum of his cell phone and he darts across the room to pick up the call, answering without checking the caller ID.  He figures it is his parents wondering where he is, or perhaps Doug.  He does not expect to hear the deep tones of Burt Hummel.

                ‘Hey, Anderson.  I know it’s late and this is a bit out of the blue I just…I was wondering whether you could come over for dinner sometime this week?’

                ‘Uh, hi, Burt!  Um…I’d love to but I’d…I think that’s probably not a great idea –‘

                ‘Is this about Finn?  Sam told me what happened at Sectionals.  Look, I’ll be straight with you – I’m not going to pretend to understand why you transferred back, but I’d like you to tell me about it.’

Blaine lets out a nervous huff – he is glad he does not have to explain to Burt or come up with some half-truth.

                ‘Thanks.’

                ‘So – how about that dinner?’

Blaine agrees to show the next night and, even though Burt does not keep him on the phone much longer, when Blaine finally hangs up he feels utterly exhausted.  He glances over at the piano and resigns himself to the fact that he will get no more work done that evening.  He packs up and heads home – he knows he is not going to rest until he finds out what Burt really wants to talk to him about.  He knows it is not to find out about Blaine’s transfer – that was months ago.  He tries not to dwell on it – he really does.  He tries not to get his hopes up.  He tries to keep topics Burt may want to talk to him about separate from the fact that Burt is his ex’s father.  He does not succeed because the only things he can think Burt may want to talk to him about are so unlikely Blaine makes himself laugh:

\- the Buckeyes: Burt has Finn to talk to about sports, he doesn’t need Blaine for that.  Also – not really a dinner kind of thing.

\- restoring cars: Burt’s a mechanic.

\- gay rights: Burt and he had discussed politics many times before.  But why now?

So that leaves talking about what happened weeks ago at Sectionals, or Blaine’s transfer.

                _Or Kurt_.

 

-+-

 

                Despite his best efforts to not obsess over what the senior Hummel could want to discuss over dinner, Blaine is a jittery mess.  He arrives early despite changing his mind over what to wear at least 3 times – he does not dare think about the state he left his room in.  He waits on the porch and forces himself to keep his hands still; the bottle of wine he decided to bring with him (less formal than flowers for Carole) helps some.  He catches the scent of roast meat and something sweet as the door opens to reveal Burt.  The man has not changed since the last time Blaine saw him – he pulls Blaine into a bone-crushing hug and Blaine melts a little as he breathes in the thick scent of aftershave and the undertone of motor oil that is so _Burt_.  Blaine feels Burt pull back, but he leaves an arm draped across Blaine’s shoulders as he leads him into the house that had become so familiar.

                ‘I brought a little something.’  Blaine offers and Burt’s smile is genuine as he takes the bottle.

                ‘Thanks.’  He gestures for Blaine to go through to the living room and disappears into the kitchen.  Blaine hears muffled voices and tries not to eavesdrop as he removes his coat and hangs it in the hall before making his way through and taking a seat.  Burt appears before Blaine can dwell too much and hands Blaine a bottle of beer – the real stuff.  Blaine opens his mouth to comment but promptly shuts it when Burt gives him a pointed look which says that this is definitely a conversation that requires beer.  Blaine takes the bottle as Burt settles heavily next to him.  They clink their bottles together and each take a quiet sip. 

                ‘We should probably do this now – before dinner.’  Burt’s voice gives nothing away and Blaine nods.  ‘There’s no easy way to say this kid so I’m going to come out and say it.’ 

The words are ice water to Blaine’s bowels and he runs every worst-case scenario through his head in a desperate attempt to steel himself for whatever terrible news Burt has for him.  He feels panic rise in his chest and he has to know the answer immediately.

                ‘It’s not Kurt is it?’

                ‘No.  It’s not Kurt.’  There’s a faint smile to Burt’s voice but it does not reach his eyes.  Burt looks sad and Blaine does not take any comfort in the elder man’s admission.  ‘It’s me.’

Blaine frowns when Burt does not continue.  He meets Burt’s eyes and holds his gaze.  Burt seems to be searching for something and Blaine takes a breath and lays himself open.  Eventually Burt continues and the words seem to hang pregnant, poisonous and so painfully tangible in the air.

                ‘I have cancer.’

Blaine’s mouth goes dry and he marvels at how calm Burt seems.  Burt takes a swig of his beer and Blaine forces himself to do the same. 

                ‘I know – it is just as shocking to hear as it is to say.  Somehow it makes it more real.’  Burt continues quietly.  ‘We caught it early and I’m going to fight it with everything I’ve got, but Kurt – he told you about his mom, right?’

Blaine nods numbly; he feels disjointed, as if he is floating.  He tries to put together what he knows about the disease and what he sees in front of him – Burt looks healthy.  He looks exactly as he did the last time Blaine saw him.  He does not look like a man with cancer.

                ‘Look, I don’t know exactly what happened between you two, but I do know you are important to him.  He’s going to need you to help him through this, Blaine.’

                ‘He…he’s not exactly talking to me right now.’

                ‘I know.’

                ‘He has…he’s got Rachel –‘

                ‘She’s not the friend you’ve been to him.  You know that, I know that and he knows that.  She’s lovely, don’t get me wrong – but I feel she gets a bit more out of that friendship than he does.  But that’s not the point.  Look – he’s adamant he’s spending Christmas in New York and he’s spending it alone because Rachel’s going off with her Dads on some cruise or something.  I’m going to head out there to surprise him and I’d like you to come with me.’

 

-+-

 

                His fingers are numb and he cannot feel his nose but none of that matters because he is going to see Kurt.  Kurt who will have just found out about his father’s cancer.  Kurt who has already had to deal with so much in his short life.  Blaine’s heart aches – he longs to be able to shoulder all the pain, the fear, the doubt and sorrow, for him.  He makes another lap of the ice to keep warm whilst keeping an eye out for Kurt. 

Time passes like treacle until Blaine suddenly spots him – he has not yet noticed Blaine.  He takes a moment to study Kurt – his cheeks are glowing from the cold, as is his nose, but he does not look like he has been crying.  Blaine is not surprised – it is so very Kurt to hold everything inside.  He was always the brave one.

He takes a breath and makes his way over across the ice.

                ‘Delivery for Kurt Hummel.’

The words hang in the air between them and Blaine cannot stop a hopeful smile from gracing his features.  It is not long lived.

                ‘Blaine?’

Kurt’s voice is sharp with disappointment and thinly veiled horror.  Blaine’s world crashes around him as his worst fears are realised – he knew it was a bad idea when Burt had suggested it but he had somehow let the senior Hummel convince him that Kurt would be _happy_ to see him.  The expression on Kurt’s face was anything but.

                ‘I’m going to kill him.  What the hell do you think you are doing?  What were you _both_ thinking?  Were you even thinking at all?’  Kurt’s voice raises in pitch as the volume rises and Blaine knows he has a very, very short amount of time to try to talk Kurt down.

                ‘Your dad flew me out here – he wanted you to have a friend around to talk to when he told you.’

                ‘He told you before he told me?’  Kurt’s voice drops low and Blaine realises his mistake too late.  ‘Of course he did.  Look, Blaine, I appreciate that you both seem to think you know what’s best for me but you both have a pretty damn funny way of showing it.  You are the last person I need to talk to right now, Blaine.  The. Last. Person.  I can’t do this right now.  I just can’t.’  Kurt turns on his heel and is striding away on his impossibly long legs before Blaine even manages to yank his skates off and vault the barrier – oblivious to the angry attendants, oblivious to the fact that the ground is freezing and he is only wearing socks.  He needs to catch up with Kurt – he _needs_ to.  He cannot leave him like this on Christmas Eve.

                ‘Kurt!’  He calls after him as he runs.  He does not expect Kurt to stop on the spot and spin to face him but he is expecting the full force of Kurt’s piercing blue eyes.

                ‘Listen to me very carefully.  I do not want to hear it, Blaine.  You are the last person I want to see right now – you and I are not OK.  I do not trust you and I do not want to hear another apology.  I know you are sorry.  I get it.  But I don’t forgive you and I am not sure I want to right now.  I _just_ found out the one person I love most in the world has _cancer_.  I don’t want to talk about it.’

                ‘Kurt, I –‘

                ‘Say it.  Go on.  Say you’re sorry again, Blaine.’

He snaps his mouth shut and Kurt narrows his eyes.

                ‘Go on.  How are you going to make this better?  What was the plan?  We’d sing a flirty little Christmas duet perhaps?  Get some hot chocolate, perhaps, then head back to the loft and have a postcard worthy Christmas dinner?  How terribly domestic.’

Blaine draws his lips together into a fine line as Kurt hits the nail on the head.  He has been an utter idiot.  This is not how it was meant to go – Kurt’s version is exactly what Blaine had dared to hope would happen.

                ‘Grow up, Blaine - life is not a fairytale.  You of all people should know that.’  Kurt hisses the words at him.  Blaine wraps his arms around himself, shrinking under Kurt’s attack.  He does not even offer up an apology. 

‘You are right.  You are completely right.’  Blaine manages to get the words out before he forces himself to turn away.

‘Yes, run away.  You’re so good at it.’

He spins around to face Kurt again and catches the fire that sparks in the blue orbs he once looked upon as if they held all the answers to the questions of the universe.  Kurt’s face cracks with a smile and Blaine almost growls.

                ‘I am not running away.’

                ‘You always run away – you ran away from us at the first sign of trouble just like you ran away from the New Directions and our friends when they needed you.  Deny it.  Go on.’ 

                ‘Don’t-’

‘I used to think you were so strong, Blaine.  You were this god at Dalton – so sure of yourself and your sexuality.  Playing the mentor.  I looked up to you…’  Kurt’s features soften and he takes a breath.  ‘You told me once that you don’t know what you’re doing.  You were right.  You don’t have a clue do you?’  Kurt looks down and kicks his boot against the curb.

The silence deafens them both as the words spin between them.  Blaine somehow remains standing, somehow keeps breathing, but he cannot find a single word.  He was not prepared for Kurt.  Kurt was right – he was living in a fairytale.  His vision blurs and he finds that, yes, there is a new low – he forces himself not to cry.  He cannot cry in front of Kurt.  He just cannot.

                ‘Goodbye, Blaine.’

It is whispered – all anger burnt away by his earlier tirade.  Blaine can do nothing but watch as Kurt walks away from him. 

 

-+-

 

                He’s not sure when he started walking, or when the tears finally began to fall – he hardly notices as the architecture styles around him change, as the neighbourhoods degrade.  He felt his cell phone vibrate a number of times – a dim thought surfaces that it is probably Burt and that he should answer – let him know he’s OK or something.  But he is not OK.  He is anything but OK so he ignores the buzzing.  Eventually, whoever it was stops calling.  He loses track of time completely – he supposes it is the early hours of Christmas day by now.  He keeps walking blindly and it is only when he feels a sharp pain in his foot and then a hot wetness, that he realises that he never collected his shoes.  He hobbles to a bench and examines the wound to the sole of his foot – fortunately it is not too deep.  Must have been glass. 

The sight of the blood seeping through his sock somehow wakes him and he starts to laugh.  A homeless man across the street swears at him.  Blaine somehow resists the urge to swear back and digs out his cell phone from his pocket instead.  He clears the missed calls from Burt but opens the text message.  The text is short and Blaine can picture Burt frowning with concentration as he composes the message on the tiny screen of his phone.  Burt offers him a hotel room and his apologies.  Blaine sends a text back thanking Burt but declining – he does not deserve any kindness from the man, not after what he must be dealing with.  He concludes the message by asking if Kurt got back OK – there is no point in asking how Kurt is.  He stares at the screen while he waits, dimly aware that perhaps, he is not in a neighbourhood where sitting with his phone out so prominently is a brilliant idea.  He squashes the thought – daring the universe to make things worse.

Burt’s affirmative reply calms Blaine a little and he shoots back a quick message of thanks.  He stares at the phone for a while before he notices he has started to shiver and that he cannot actually feel his extremities.  He glances around and realises that he has no idea where he actually is – aside from somewhere in New York on a bench.  He tries to stand and winces as pain flares through his injured foot.  He sits down again. 

He unlocks his phone and scrolls through his contacts until he sees a familiar name and dials.


	6. Thin Ice

### Thin Ice

                He exits the taxi at the address Doug text him, keeping as much weight as he could off his injured foot, and takes in his surroundings after paying the cabbie.  5th Avenue was the last place he had expected to end up at 4am on Christmas morning.  The fringe of trees that signal the boundary of Central Park glow almost eerily, strung as they are with lights, and giant snowflakes garnish the imposing buildings blinking slowly at him.  He glares at them – they are too jovial and jar with his mood right now.  He limps awkwardly towards the building the gruff cab driver had pointed him in and grimaces as the icy wind bites his face – he had only just begun to regain feeling in his fingers thanks to the heaters in the cab (he has lost hope of feeling his toes for now – anyway the numbness helps dull the pain of his injury).

The doormen wear forest green uniforms with polished brass buttons that remind him of watching _Cinderella_ pantomimes as a child, and he is mildly surprised that they get the door for him without the slightest hint that they are judging his dishevelled and shoeless appearance.  Whoever’s address he is at probably called down to let them know to expect him, Blaine supposes, as they do not seem surprised to see a stranger at this hour.  He anxiously runs a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to make himself look a little more presentable - at least he was well dressed (barring his present lack of footwear).  He is directed towards the lift – an art deco affair in gleaming brass and enamel – and one of the doormen, noticing Blaine’s slow progress, enquires kindly as to whether or not he can call a doctor to attend to Blaine’s apparent injury.  He thanks the older gentleman for his concern but politely declines – his breeding and ingrained manners kicking into overdrive – after glancing to make sure he was not trailing blood across the marble.  The lift doors slide closed with a whisper and he hardly notices that he has moved at all as the lift takes him up and up and up, all the way to the penthouse.  He re-reads the text message – Doug had not said who it was that he was sending Blaine to and the text message contains no clues, only the address which Blaine had had to re-read three times before he could take in the fact that his friend was sending him to see someone on the Upper East Side.  On Christmas morning.  At silly-o’clock. 

Doug had actually seemed genuinely concerned by Blaine’s mental state as he had recounted the goings on at the ice-rink and what had transpired between Kurt and himself.  He had berated his own stupidity and pathetic optimism and Doug had hardly spoken a word other than to tell him to go to the address he was about to send him via text message.  Blaine took a deep breath, richly scented as it was with Brasso, lilies and crisp linen - it reminded Blaine of a funeral parlour and did nothing to calm his already frayed nerves.  The doors slid open with a gentle _whoosh_ and he found himself hobbling down a short corridor towards a grand set of double doors decorated with stylised water lilies in a motive repeated subtly, both in the white moulding around the ceilings, and in the marquetry that made up the highly polished floor.  He could not see an obvious door knocker or doorbell so he raised his fist in preparation to knock – praying that this was the correct address and that Doug had not chosen now to play some sort of devilish trick on him.  He was not expecting the doors to open before he signalled his arrival and he certainly was not expecting to see _him_.

              

-+-

 

                The shrill bells of his 1950’s Bakelite phone had woken him with a start and he had groped to answer it with shaking hands - his heart racing like he had just run a marathon; heavy and pounding in his chest.  The only reason someone would call at this godforsaken hour was to impart bad news.  He could barely hear over the racing roar of his pulse as he listened to the slight crackle on the line and the sound of someone’s breath.  Doug had been quick to reassure his uncle that, no - no one had died, and no - he was not _trying_ to give his uncle a heart attack, and yes – he was aware what time it was.  Douglas struggled to force his breathing to return to normal as he let his nephew talk – _Blaine_ was alone in New York on Christmas morning and had nowhere to go.  Something had happened and the lad was friendless and in a bad way, and as Douglas was the only person Doug knew in New York would he be able to do Doug a “hunormous” favour and take Blaine in for the night? Douglas had had to stop himself from blurting “yes” as soon as he had heard Blaine’s name – he had forced himself instead to listen to Doug’s concerns for his friend’s wellbeing, and had let his nephew apologise for the umpteenth time for calling at such an antisocial hour.  He eventually assured Doug that it would be no hassle at all and, of course, any friend of Doug’s was a friend of Douglas’.  Doug had been so grateful Douglas’ heart had ached for him – he could only imagine what it would be like to care so much for someone else’s wellbeing.

Douglas dictates his address for Doug to give Blaine and then has Doug read it back to him so he is certain that his nephew has taken it down correctly.  He then lets Doug ring off and falls backwards onto his bed, suddenly and utterly boneless.  His hands are still shaking and his breathing is unsteady and he passes it off as a mixture of shock from being woken from a deep, though dreamless, sleep in the early hours of the morning and anxiety for his nephew’s friend.  From the sounds of things he was not in a good place mentally, and Doug had sounded so genuinely concerned…  Douglas takes a deep breath then takes stock of the situation – his housekeeper is, naturally, unavailable – it is Christmas and he is not due to see her again until the 27th (January 2nd if he can help it – the woman works too hard and he is more than capable of coping by himself over the holiday).  He pads his way through his apartment and pokes his head into one of the guest bedrooms – he finds it made-up and releases a little sigh of relief as he would have no real clue where to start to look for fresh sheets.  That is one thing taken care of at least.

It is then he notices that he is not exactly clothed appropriately to meet someone for the first time – someone he had spent hours openly _ogling_ at a party even though he had not been formally introduced (he still blames the whiskey).  He blushes at the thought and hurries back across the apartment to his sprawling rooms to dress.

He finds that he cannot sit still and makes his way to the kitchen for a coffee so he can attempt to make himself feel a little more human.  In hind-sight tea would have probably been more suitable as his nerves are already firing on overtime like live electrical cables in a bucket of water, and caffeine is not exactly going to help that situation any.  The rich smell of the beans as he grinds them helps to ground him a little however, and he manages to stock the fancy and over-complex machine without spilling everything everywhere, despite his trembling fingers.  He glances at the vintage station clock across the room (a happy find during a site renovation he worked on when he had first moved to the city) and frowns a little – the lad must have been really far away.  Alternately finding a cab on Christmas morning may have proven a challenge.  Douglas frowns as he takes a sip of the hot, bitter liquid – perhaps he should have told Doug that he would send someone to collect Blaine?  Anything could have happened to him by now!  He should have called down – Gerry and Brian were on duty tonight and they both knew Douglas well enough to call a driver for him with no awkward questions.  He winces at the thought of trying to explain why a teenager was making his way to his apartment in the early hours of the morning.  If it had been one of the newer guys - Greg or Markus, for example - they would surely have raised an eyebrow, but Gerry and Brian had been at the building since Douglas had first moved there.  He sent a quick prayer to anyone who was listening in thanks – the last thing he needed was gossip.  It was then that he remembered that he really needed to let them know to expect Blaine downstairs and to send him right up.  He called down to pass on the message and was grateful that he detected no surprise or scandal in Brian’s deep voice.  Brian was not the type to ask questions and it was not as if Douglas often had young men visit his rooms.  In fact, Douglas could count the number of people he had had to visit him (clients he preferred to meet in his offices) on one hand in the 10 years he had lived there.

As time passed he became more and more aware of the metallic _scrape-tick_ of the old clock, and he poured himself a second cup of coffee - more to give himself something to do with his hands than anything else.  He ran a hand through his slightly sleep tousled hair and glanced at his reflection in the spotless oven as he did so and was marginally pleased with what he saw – he did not look as wild-eyed and frantic as he felt on the inside.  He tried to distract himself from the nervousness of waiting by flicking idly through some designs he had brought home from the office with him that were now spread haphazardly across the glass dining table top.  He found himself looking through them more than at them and he eventually closed his eyes in frustration.  This was not how he had imagined finally meeting Blaine – how could one simply extend a hand and invite someone into their private space when they knew nothing of one another?  Well, Douglas mused, he knew quite a lot – more than he should really, from Doug’s constant commentary, but, that aside, the only time Douglas had actually been in the same room as Blaine was at that party.  They were truly strangers.

               _What must he think of me - the strange uncle of his friend who stared at him all evening without even saying “hello”?_

He shook his head lightly and reminded himself why Blaine was making his way (hopefully) to Douglas’ in the first place – the lad was stranded in New York and had just had a rather nasty argument with his ex on Christmas Eve.  Douglas took the opportunity to re-centre himself – to push all his fears and worries to the side – to make himself open and ready to help his nephew’s friend.  Nothing mattered right now apart from doing what he could to ensure Blaine’s comfort and safety.

The brief buzz of the intercom alerted Douglas that Blaine must have arrived and he made his way across the suite to the large double doors that led onto the small private landing that served as the entrance to his penthouse.  He stared for a moment at the ornate carvings and marvelled briefly at the significance of the moment – want it to or not his life had changed the moment he first accepted his brother’s invite to the Andersons’ anniversary party and now, on the other side of those doors with which he was so familiar, stood a boy he had been unable to get out of his head since the moment he had laid eyes on him.  Douglas took a breath with the full knowledge that his life was about to change again for better or worse and opened the doors.

 

-+-

 

               Blaine froze, hand held awkwardly in mid-knock.  He had lost all ability to form conscious thoughts apparently and was stood, frozen, like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar.  Doug’s uncle stood before him in the flesh and suddenly Blaine needed to be somewhere far, far away.  He had no idea what he had been expecting – the address was a penthouse on the Upper East Side, for goodness sake!  But whatever it had been, it had not been this – he had idly thought about meeting the man before him numerous times since Blaine had first caught him watching him.  In each permutation, be it at a party, or a formal dinner, Blaine had been cool, calm and collected – dressed to the nines, extending a hand, and coming across as mature and suave.  This was not supposed to be how he met Douglas Chambers.  Deep-down he had never really thought he would ever actually meet the man before him – why ever would he?  He was merely an eighteen-year-old (almost nineteen, thank you very much) boy and his friend’s uncle was an attractive man who shared Blaine’s _inclination_ and who he secretly looked up to the more he learnt about him.  He represented safety and integrity, and served as a distraction – someone Blaine could fantasise fancied him without ever needing to face the reality of inevitable rejection. 

When Blaine had first heard tale of the elusive “Lord Lucan” he had experienced a deep thrill that had surged through him, awakening something within him that he had never had cause to previously think about.  The romanticism and mystery had appealed to Blaine and he had become mildly obsessed with gleaning bits of information about his friend’s absent uncle.  Feeling unsatisfied with what he heard and picked up from listening in on his parents’ discussions, Blaine had devised a character in his head that was charming, debonair, and a bit of a rogue - a rebel who had, due to some indeterminate scandal (that may, or may not have been related to a murder), left his family for the big city and never looked back.  As he had grown older, Blaine’s immature and naive caricature of the man he privately called simply “Lucan”, had developed into a complex romantic lead for Blaine’s first inexperienced fumblings and he blushed down to his frozen toes at the possibility that the man in front of him could ever learn the reality.  But the man before him was so much more tangible than “Lucan” had been – fiercely intelligent dark eyes bored into his and Blaine was certain that he was completely see-through in that moment. 

Blaine realised with chagrin that he was staring and dropped his eyes quickly muttering something about how he should never have come - that it was a terrible mistake, and that he was just going to get a hotel room, whilst somehow managing to apologise profusely for disturbing the gentleman at this ridiculous hour on Christmas morning.  Before Blaine could turn to leave he felt a gentle, but firm, hand on his shoulder accompanied by a deep rumbling (and nervous?) laugh. 

          ‘Come now - there’s no need for that.  You’re Doug’s friend and he’s family which makes you family by extension.  So let’s start over shall we?  I’m Douglas.’  His voice is softer than Blaine had expected, deeper somehow, and though quietly spoken, there is a power to his voice that makes Blaine know instantly that he never wants to cross this man.  Douglas holds out his hand and Blaine squares his shoulders and takes it forcing himself to meet the elder’s eyes again.

          ‘Blaine.  Blaine Anderson.  We met - well, we almost met at my parents’ wedding anniversary party.’

          ‘I remember.  I find myself remiss there – allow me to make up for not introducing myself as I should have to my gracious host.’  Douglas’ smile is soft and looks genuine and Blaine lets himself relax slightly as Douglas steps aside and gestures for his young companion to follow him into his private space.

Blaine makes to follow Douglas, disguising his limp as best he can, and praying he does not re-open the wound as Douglas’ carpets are deep-piled and cream in colour.  He is tense and keeps his back as straight as he can as he follows the taller man into the open-plan kitchen area, trying to act as if he is not helplessly overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted. 

          ‘May I take your coat, Blaine?’

He realises he must be positively glowing as his skin gradually warms with the ambience of the room, and he is thankful that it masks his blush as he pleads with his fingers to co-operate while he negotiates with the toggles of his thick overcoat.  His fingers feel like sausages and he is certain that the simple activity takes him a lot longer than it should, but he eventually manages to peel himself out of his coat.  Douglas takes it from him, and his scarf, without a word and merely motions for Blaine to take a stool at the Corian topped breakfast bar as he disappears back into the hallway - presumably to hang Blaine’s things in a closet somewhere as Blaine did not recall seeing anything so homely looking as a coatrack.  He grimaces as he realises that Douglas would have noticed his shoeless state and wonders what the man thinks about it and how he could explain without coming across as pathetic.  He is not left alone with his thoughts for long, however, as Douglas returns, crossing the large, open space and busies himself gathering two large mugs, a saucepan, a canister of something Blaine does not immediately recognise, and some milk.

          ‘Hot chocolate sound good?’

          ‘That would actually be kind of perfect, thank you.’  Blaine cannot help but smile a little, and he winces as his cheeks sting.  He forces himself not to stare while Douglas makes their beverages and instead allows himself to take in his unexpected surroundings.  The room is sparsely but tastefully decorated with numerous architectural details and a muted colour palate that serves to accentuate the stark beauty of the more structural items.  Someone has plainly spent time designing the lighting to almost paint with the available textures in the room and the resultant atmosphere is wholly comforting instead of being clinical and empty.  It is simultaneously elegant and masculine and Blaine finds himself appreciating the subtleties of the decorative touches he can see.  He massages his frozen hands as he looks around and for the first time since he arrived in New York he allows himself to try to relax a little.  He is concentrating so hard on not thinking about _why_ he came to be in Douglas’ place that, when a Cornishware mug appears in front of him full of thick, creamy hot chocolate topped with a sprinkle of cinnamon, Blaine jumps slightly.

          ‘Sorry.’  Douglas smiles as he takes a seat across from his young guest.  ‘You looked very deep in thought there.’

          ‘Sorry!  I was – um… I mean I wasn’t.  I was trying not to think.’

He does not expect the quiet _hum_ of understanding that Douglas makes in response, and he is not quite sure what to say so instead Blaine wraps his tortured fingers around the mug and tries not to moan in pleasure at how good it feels. 

They sit with the rich scent of cocoa, cinnamon and cream between them until both mugs are empty and have long-since gone cold.  The silence is peppered with the noise of the city slowly waking around them and Blaine slowly allows himself to process recent events.  Douglas casually reads a book he must have fetched at some point and Blaine silently thanks him for not trying to talk to him – after all, Doug must have told his uncle _something_ and Blaine knows that, were their roles reversed, he would be dying to know what happened. 

Eventually Blaine feels about pulled-together enough to move – his foot has started to throb and his eyes feel like they have been open for days.  He gingerly goes to stand and the movement draws Douglas’ attention.

          ‘Sorry.  I…uh, please may I use your bathroom?  I lost my shoes and I cut my foot at some point and I should probably see to it to make sure there’s no glass or anything still in it before it closes up too much.’

Douglas frowns in concern but nods and leads Blaine down a side-corridor, past multiple doors, and finally into a bathroom that was almost the size of Blaine’s bedroom back in Ohio.  Blaine mumbles his thanks and takes a seat in a wicker bath chair that looks like it is at least five times his age, then begins to peel his bloody and filthy sock from his injured foot.  He hisses in pain as the fabric sticks around the wound where the blood has dried, and suddenly Douglas is kneeling beside him – his hands gently taking over for Blaine.

          ‘Let me.’  It is spoken so softly - almost tenderly - that the fact that it is not a question but command does not bristle Blaine and he instead finds himself giving his foot (and trust) over to a man he hardly knows.  Douglas removes Blaine’s sock with what is almost a caress, and makes a small _tut_ noise before standing and leaving the room.  Blaine frowns in confusion, his foot twitching slightly at the sudden absence of slightly rough, warm hands, but Douglas is soon back with a brown bottle of something, a small bowl (which he fills with water from the sink), and a bundle of cloths, pins, and bandages.  Blaine follows Douglas’ movements with curious eyes as he methodically pours a measure of the liquid into the slightly steaming water - releasing a sharp antiseptic smell into the air.  Douglas once again kneels before Blaine and gently takes his foot.  Blaine hisses between his teeth as the wet cloth touches his foot and the cut seems to glow bright-hot like a brand. 

‘It’s not too bad – you were lucky.  This should kill any potential infection.  I know it stings, sorry.’ 

‘No – it’s fine.  Thank you.’  Blaine forces his voice to sound strong and is pleased that it does not betray him as Douglas works on his foot – first cleaning, then drying and bandaging it.  He only meets Blaine’s eyes when he has finished and then it is so brief Blaine almost believes he imagined it.  Douglas cleans up methodically, pouring the now brown water out down the sink, and disappears again - presumably to return the first-aid items to wherever they came from.  He leaves Blaine with a couple of pure white towels of different sizes that look impossibly fluffy and closes the door behind him.  Blaine takes the opportunity to place his bandaged foot on the warm tile ( _Under-floor heating?_ he wonders idly) and is pleasantly surprised when he only experiences a dull, pressing ache instead of the sharp, stabbing pain from earlier.  He stands gingerly and tests his weight through his foot then makes his way over to the sink, cringing when he sees his reflection up close.  His eyes are puffy and his hair is a dishevelled nest of half-escaped curls.  He frowns and quickly runs the tap splashing his face with freezing water in an attempt to reduce the swelling around his eyes.  He presses his face to a towel and inhales Egyptian cotton and lavender.  

          He does not know how long he was in the bathroom for, but by the time he emerges he feels a little closer to human.  He eventually finds his way back into the kitchen and finds Douglas at the breakfast bar with his book again.  Blaine clears his throat a little to get the older man’s attention and tries to smile when Douglas’ eyes meet his own. 

          ‘There is a guest bedroom just down that hall and to your left – I’ve put out some fresh clothes for you.  Get some sleep, OK?’

It should be awkward, Blaine knows it should.  He is, after all, an unannounced guest in this man’s house, but it is not awkward.  Blaine thanks Douglas from the bottom of his heart, fractured and tormented as it is, that the man has not asked him if he wants to talk, or even how he is.  He resolves to make it up to him somehow as he enters the room Douglas has offered him.  Blaine finds a plain white Henley and a pair of dove grey jogging bottoms – both are well-worn but clean and warm and smell strongly of the same fabric conditioner as the towels.  He strips, changes - rolling up both the sleeves of the top and the pants legs so they are not so ridiculously long on him, then pulls back the cashmere and silk comforter before sliding between the linen sheets.  For once he has no problem drifting off and before he knows it he is lost to fractured dreams featuring furious glasz eyes.


	7. Old Boys

### Old Boys

                He wakes gradually to the smell of fresh coffee - his eyes are bleary and his bed is facing the wrong way.  He reaches out for his bedside table expecting to find his alarm clock so he can work out what time it is, but instead feels nothing but empty air and only just stops himself from falling out of bed.  All at once the sweet innocent oblivion of his post-sleep mind is jarred back into reality by memories of the previous day flooding back and he feels the bitter prickle of tears.  He blinks repeatedly to clear his vision and takes a calming breath as he tries to pull himself together and come to terms with the events that led up to his present position in an unfamiliar bed in borrowed clothes.  He had been so positive that he and Kurt would reconcile and they would spend some family time together with Burt…  He had been such a naïve fool.  He pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to remain distanced and objective – he needs to keep it together, at least until he gets home.  He cannot break down in Doug’s uncle’s penthouse – not after turning up shoeless, wind bitten, and puffy-eyed.  He runs his last conversation with Kurt through his head again and it does not hurt any less the third, fourth, or thirtieth time.  Kurt was always so good with words – he learnt how to wield them as weapons over the years and now his accuracy cuts to the core.  He was right though – Blaine did not know what he was doing and he _was_ running away.  Kurt had once told Blaine that he was never saying “goodbye” to him, but Blaine supposes he signed that promise away when he had broken Kurt’s trust.  It feels like something that happened to someone else in another place, another time.

The familiar tug starts in his chest again – the one that tastes like guilt and shame – and he feels the weight of it start to crush him.  He takes a breath, then another, and another in an attempt to halt the on-coming wave of panic that threatens to drown him.  What was he thinking?  Kurt had been utterly right to react the way he had.  He pinches the bridge of his nose hard.  Anger bubbles up gradually – he is so sick of ruining everything.  He tried so hard to be what everyone needed him to be – immaculate, considerate, strong Blaine – and what did it get him?  He has nothing.  Kurt had been the shining beacon in his life – the wake-up call he had not even realised that he had been missing and Blaine had _ruined_ everything.  He wants to scream, to cry, to attack a punching bag until his knuckles bleed and the pain flows away.  He is so tired - tired of having to be perfect all the time - tired of people expecting him to always be strong and sensible and to do the right thing.  Well he had proven that he was actually pretty incapable of doing anything right – the New Directions hated him, the old New Directions hated him, and now Burt and Kurt hated him.  But not Doug, and not Sebastian or Hunter – they were his friends and they would still be there for him, wouldn’t they?  How long would it be before he messed something up with them?  And the Warblers…  They were expecting him to lead them to a Nationals victory and Blaine was _terrified_.  Kurt had been completely right – he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. 

The realisation makes him feel simultaneously exhausted and extremely agitated at once and it slowly dawns on him that he really does have to get up and somehow face Douglas.  Douglas whose generosity Blaine has no idea how to repay, or even how to begin to try.  A trickle of iced terror runs down his spine when he remembers the significance of the fact that it is _Christmas Day_ and that Douglas probably has _plans_ that Blaine is _ruining_.  The thought expels him from the warmth of the bed and he almost trips over the hem of the jogging bottoms (they must have rolled down as he slept) as he makes his way to the door.  He rolls the pants legs back up; noticing that his foot feels better than he had been expecting it to as he is forced to balance on it.  He gingerly opens the door and makes his way back to the bathroom – a couple of bottles have appeared together with fresh towels and Blaine’s chest aches at how considerate Douglas is.  Curious, he unscrews the silver cap on the bottle containing a moss coloured body wash and identifies bergamot and cedar wood in the scent.  He runs a finger over the label – _Bracing Silverbirch_ – then strips and walks into the shower cubical.

The shower is like nothing he has ever experienced before – steam and water jets pummel the tension from his shoulders and massage him, and he finds the shower gel’s scent soothing and refreshing.  He exits the shower feeling more awake than he has in months.  He dries off using the fresh towels draped over the free-standing heated towel rail then pulls the Henley and joggers back on.  He towel dries his hair as best he can then and glares at his reflection in the mirror that somehow has not steamed up – like the floor and the towel rail, it too must be heated.  He notices a new toothbrush (still in its packet) nestled next to a tube of toothpaste, a small tub of pomade, and a comb.  He sends a silent prayer of thanks to Douglas’s thoughtfulness and adds another line to the list of things he will never be able to fully repay his friend’s uncle for as he fixes his hair.  He tries not to think about how spookily well Douglas seems to know him. 

Feeling closer to being put together, despite the casual attire, Blaine takes a deep breath – inhaling the spiced steam one last time, and makes his way into the kitchen.

                He finds Douglas bent over a series of complex looking blueprints, one hand clutching a bacon roll and the other a pencil.  Blaine watches Douglas work for a moment before the effect of the smell of food on Blaine’s empty stomach forces him to announce his presence.

                ‘Uh…hi.’

Douglas looks up from his work and smiles warmly at Blaine.

                ‘Hi.  There’s one of these for you keeping warm under the grill – you do eat bacon don’t you?’

                ‘Oh!  Yes!  Thanks.’  Blaine mentally berates himself for coming across no more put together than he had previously as he fetches the roll from the kitchen and transfers it to the waiting plate on the side. 

                ‘There’s coffee too – I’m still trying to figure that machine out so it’s strong.’

                ‘Strong is fine by me right now.’

                ‘I figured it might be.’

Blaine helps himself to some of the coffee and makes his way with both plate and mug to join Douglas at the table.  He sits in silence and watches – noticing the slight creases and lines that appear when Douglas frowns and the way he transfers the pencil to hold it with his mouth as he flips between A1 sheets.  Douglas’ lips purse around the end of the pencil and Blaine blinks hard, swallows and forces himself to focus on something, anything else.  He notices that the drawings appear to all be of variations on the same building – interiors and exteriors.  He finds he wants to ask Douglas about them but Douglas is working so he keeps silent and instead listens to the soundscape of their environment – the _whirr-hum_ of the fridge, and the steady _scrape-tick_ of the clock.  The room looks so different in the light of the day and Blaine notices for the first time that there are floor-to-ceiling windows along one entire wall that look out on a stunning view of Central Park.  He loses himself watching the tiny people go about their lives and is mildly surprised at how quiet it seems considering how dry the weather is.  It is then that he remembers what day it is again.

                ‘Merry Christmas, by the way.’  Blaine blurts before he can stop himself.  _Suave, Blaine.  Well done._

                ‘Hmm?  Oh - um…  Merry Christmas, Blaine.’  The smile Blaine receives is a little tight but utterly genuine, and Blaine finds himself returning it.  Douglas’ eyes meet his again and he looks like he is about to say something, then reconsiders it.  Blaine frowns, finding he needs to say something, anything, to fill the void.

                ‘I, uh, I want you to know that I’m really sorry we met like this and that I am so beyond grateful to you for your generosity.’  He knows he is rambling but he is overcome with the sudden need to let Douglas know how he is feeling, and the relief that washes over him when Douglas responds is palpable.

                ‘It is really no bother, Blaine.  It is actually nice to have a little company.  I’m just glad that I could help out a little.’

Again there is no agenda to Douglas’ admission that Blaine can detect – he is not asking for details and Blaine relaxes a little knowing that Douglas will probably never ask.

                ‘I guess you have plans for later or something –’  He glances at the clock and winces when he notices the late hour – it is almost four in the afternoon, the sun will be setting in the next half-hour, and he has missed most of Christmas Day – not that he would have really felt like celebrating anyway.  He is surprised to hear Douglas huff out a laugh in response and raises an eyebrow at the man in question. 

                ‘No plans in particular, no.  I was thinking of heading over to the Club in a couple of hours – you are welcome to join me.  They usually put on a good spread.’

                ‘Um…I don’t really have any spare clothes – my stuff is all kind of with my… my ex’s father.  Anyway – I really don’t want to impose on you.  I should really reschedule my flight or something and head home.’

Douglas’ expression is unreadable and Blaine feels his skin tighten.  Dark eyes search Blaine’s for what feels like an eternity and Blaine gets the feeling that Douglas is looking for something.  He does not look away. 

                ‘If that’s what you’d like.’

Douglas smiles slightly and goes back to his drawings leaving Blaine feeling completely lost.  He has no clue what to do.

                ‘There’s no hurry, you know.  I’m not going to kick you out, Blaine.’  The comment seemingly comes from nowhere and Blaine frowns.

                ‘I’m sorry?’

                ‘Doug mentioned that you had planned to stay in New York for a couple of days at least – you may have noticed that it is not exactly crowded here.  You’re welcome to use this as a base.  It would save you the hassle of trying to change your plane ticket and it may give you the opportunity to have a bit of a break.  You look like you could use one.’

It is the most Douglas has ever said to him and Blaine has the urge to grab the man and hug him for being so kind towards someone who is practically a stranger.  Douglas senses Blaine’s instability of mood and frowns slightly.

                ‘I didn’t mean to overstep the mark – I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Blaine.’

                ‘Offended me?  No!  I just… thank you.  I would really appreciate that.  To stay, I mean.  So long as you are sure you don’t mind, that is.’

                ‘You’ll find I don’t make offers I do not intend to keep.’  Douglas’ smile is warm, genuine and a little relieved and Blaine finds that his own is similarly open.

                ‘So – how about tonight?  I feel bad that I haven’t provided you with a proper Christmas dinner.  A bacon sandwich does not exactly fit the bill…’

                ‘Actually, it was kind of exactly what I needed.  So…tell me about this Club?’

 

-+-

 

                The dinner jacket fits him like it was made to measure and Blaine has never worn anything quite like it – the shawl collar is grosgrain silk, and the lining is a deep red which matches the pocket square and the laces of his dress shoes perfectly.  He feels almost back to his old self and he is still not completely certain how Douglas pulled it off.  It was not exactly like any shops were open and Blaine reasons that it is probably safer not to question his good fortune or the reach of Douglas’ contacts.

The Club turns out to be a little like something out of a Dickens novel – the men there range in age between their early 30’s and late 70’s, and Douglas seems to know everyone.  Blaine is introduced to barristers and judges, politicians and doctors, gallery owners and property developers, designers and shop proprietors.  Seemingly anyone who is _anyone_ is there.  Douglas does not leave his side and Blaine finds that he is infinitely grateful as he is more than a little overwhelmed.  Douglas’ presence is soothing and warm; a stabilising force – as the sun is for the planets that orbit it. 

There are a number of “Old Boys” from Dalton and they each take an interest in Blaine – asking about his GPA, his extracurricular activities, and his post-graduation plans.  He feels as if he is on show and he subconsciously leans a little into Douglas’ reassuringly calm and commanding presence.  He’s not sure if the Old Boys are weighing up, testing him, or simply about to eat him.

Dinner is a formal affair complete with silver service, and the food is the best he has tasted.  There are nine courses and Blaine feels full by the end of the fourth.  Wine and brandy are flowing freely and the serving staff treat him exactly the same as the other gentlemen present – calling him “sir” and refilling his glass before he even notices that it is empty.

Blaine supposes that the only difference between _now_ and Dickens’ time is that no one smokes when they withdraw after dinner.  He feels as if he has been drawn into a private and ancient world; he feels grown-up – so far removed from the petty dramas of school and his old life. 

The room spins a little when he moves his head too fast, but it is Christmas and he is actually having a good time so he cannot find it in himself to care.  He loses himself in the hum of conversation but something feels off – beside the camber of the room.  He feels colder, somehow – unsteady; as if the world has been knocked from its axis.   He realises that at some point he and Douglas have separated.  A seeping ice crawls up his spine and he stands on his tiptoes to try to spot the architect over the heads of the other gentlemen.  Somewhere, someone is playing a piano and the sound draws Blaine like a moth to fire - chasing away the ice.  He wanders through the labyrinth of ornate rooms – so like Dalton and nothing like it at the same time – until he spots the grand piano.  The pianist looks to be in his mid to late twenties, the youngest man Blaine has seen that evening by far – he is blonde and slim and has the most piercing green eyes.  Blaine finds himself leaning against the smooth black gloss of the instrument before he is aware he has moved towards it from the gilt doorway.

                ‘You’re new.’

The voice is old money and molasses.  Blaine smiles and nods.

                ‘Yes – I’m here with Douglas.  Douglas Chambers.  The architect.’

                ‘Oh?’  The blonde stops playing and stands to offer his hand.  ‘I’m Benedict Charles, but my friends call me Charlie.’

                ‘Blaine Anderson.’ 

                ‘Nice to meet you, Blaine.’  Charlie holds Blaine’s hand for a little longer than Blaine thinks is probably necessary before releasing him.  The moment reminds Blaine a little of the first time he met Sebastian all those years ago at Dalton - it is not an unpleasant sensation.

                ‘Likewise.’

Charlie smiles as he retakes his seat at the piano, flexes his fingers and then resumes playing.  It is not a piece Blaine is familiar with but it has a nice blues rhythm to it.  Blaine resists the urge to squeeze next to Charlie on the piano stool and instead leans back onto the piano in a move he hopes looks casual.  He feels warm and his blood is buzzing in time to the beat of Charlie’s music.

                ‘You’re good.’ 

The blonde smiles at the compliment.

                ‘Do you play, Blaine?’

                ‘A little, yeah.’

Charlie shifts over on the piano stool and motions for Blaine to join him Blaine is certain that his cheeks flush but he manages to resist, instead shaking his head slightly.  The pianist turns the full force of those emerald pools on him and Blaine finds himself sitting next to the young man – thigh pressed tightly to thigh.  He can feel the muscles in Charlie’s leg shift as he depresses pedals.  He can feel the bass notes vibrate through the floor and into him through the seat.  He almost misses Charlie’s question he is so lost in sensations.   

                ‘So, what brings you to the Club, Blaine?’

He takes a breath.

 

-+-

 

                Douglas feels the loss of Blaine’s presence keenly and manages to fight down the inexplicable wave of nausea that accompanies the realisation.  This is worse than the last time he lost sight of Blaine at the Andersons’ party – this time Blaine is supposed to be _his_ responsibility.  At least that is how he rationalises it, because Douglas cannot contemplate the other explanation.  He excuses himself from the conversation he had been engaged in – some innocuous anecdote, no doubt, Douglas had ceased to pay conscious attention a while ago – and actively begins his search.  It does not take him long to spot him – he hears him first.  Blaine’s silky baritenor is like a siren’s draw and he finds a crowd surrounding the piano where both his charge and another young man are engaged in entertaining the patrons.  The blonde is practically on Blaine’s lap – one arm draped around his shoulders while Blaine plays and sings.  The crowd are enjoying every moment and as Blaine draws the song to its conclusion there are plenty of “encores” and requests.  Gone is the shy, embarrassed and uncertain boy that greeted Douglas that afternoon at the table – this delightful creature before him is a consummate performer. 

                ‘You said he could sing but I think you undersold him,’ a gruff voice next to his ear interjects Douglas’ thoughts.  He recognises the man as a fellow Old Boy. 

He does not reply and later, much later, when he is back in his own bed - staring at the ceiling and unable to sleep, he will torture himself for being so rude – it will seem unfathomable to him.  It is utterly out of character for Douglas.  He will justify to himself that he was simply concerned for Blaine – partly because the lad had clearly had too much to drink, and also because Douglas was supposed to be _responsible_ for him.  A responsible person would be concerned that his charge was in the company of a man with the reputation of Benedict Charles.  So, Douglas will trivialise the way his palms had pricked with sweat, and his pulse had been racing – merely a symptom of his concern and a side-effect of the heat of the room.  He will deny that his gut had clenched with a mix of fire and ice when Charlie had nonchalantly taken Blaine’s hand and pulled him up and into an impromptu bow.  He will quash the memory of the way his world had diminished to nothing but a pair of amber eyes and a honeyed voice, and he will watch the shadows on the wall until they slink away to hide from the new day.


	8. Politics and Playthings

### Politics and Playthings

                He finds Douglas at the table, complete with coffee, bacon roll, pencil, and blueprints all present as before - but the atmosphere feels completely different to the previous day.  Blaine silently retrieves his own coffee and breakfast then joins Douglas at the table.  The smell of food drew him from his room, and the fact that they have fallen into a routine so easily is not lost on Blaine.  He eyes his breakfast suspiciously battling his stomach’s insistence that the roll is the last thing it needs. 

                ‘It’ll make you feel better.’  Douglas’ voice is soft but he does not look up from his work. 

                ‘Thank you.’  Blaine does not know what else to say.

He forces himself to eat, focusing on the man across from him rather than the nausea.  Douglas looks like he has not slept and Blaine finds himself wondering if it was something he did.  Most of the latter part of the previous evening is a blur to him, and he cannot recall _how_ they got back to Douglas’; but he does recall fragments.  He sang Christmas carols with Charlie – it felt so good to have others appreciate his talent and encourage him again.  It had been a great pick-me-up following the events of Christmas Eve.  He recalls the heat of Charlie against him and the easy way that the blonde had reaped details from Blaine about his (now non-existent) personal life then asked for his number.  Blaine remembers entering it into the other man’s phone – he instantly feels guilty at the memory, then quashes it – he is single after all.  He feels anything but single though whilst he shares breakfast, sitting across from Douglas.  It is so ridiculously domestic and Blaine knows how easily he could fall into patterns with the quiet architect.  Amber eyes flit over the face of the man before him as Blaine nurses his cooling coffee.  Blaine remembers the look he had caught Douglas giving him when Charlie had draped his arm across the shoulders of his new-found friend.  The older man’s face had looked possessive, almost pained, and when their eyes had met it had sent a thrill through Blaine to his core.  He had found himself reacting viscerally: loosened as he had been by the warm courage of too much alcohol and a deep desire to _forget_.

He had not been attracted to Charlie – the man was handsome but there had been something about him that had set alarm bells ringing in Blaine’s mind.  He puts it down to the easy way in which Charlie invaded personal space – but there was something else there, under the surface, that Blaine could not put his finger on in the haze of inebriation.  It had not stopped him playing the game back – touching because he _could_.  He would not deny that the attention had felt good, and that he had allowed himself to close his eyes and imagine, just for a moment, that the heat next to him had been belonged to a lover (if he was being truly honest he had imagined that it had been Kurt beside him, after all, Kurt would have _loved_ the Club).  He had not, however, expected the effect it had had on Doulas – the way the man had been unable to look away.  Blaine had felt Douglas’ eyes roam his body openly as he had performed, and, like at his parents’ party, he had felt his breath catch a little in his throat whenever their eyes had met across the crowded space. 

As the sun's weak rays chased the last of the fog from Blaine’s mind he cringed a little – perhaps Blaine had tried something in his drunken state on the way home.  Maybe that was why Douglas was being off with him?  Blaine felt an icy wave crash over him and he felt short of breath.  Of course a man like Douglas would not be interested in a boy like him – what had he got to offer exactly?  He had turned up like an urchin on the man’s doorstep and he had taken him in out of pity and duty to a nephew he was getting to know after years of estrangement.  This was the _Gap Attack_ all over again – he had read too much into something and seen something that was not there out of desperation and loneliness.  Blaine felt sick at the thought and was overcome with the desperate need to fix things.  The silence between the two of them as the antique clock marched time forwards seemed to cement Blaine’s theory with each passing second until he could not stand the silence.

                ‘Um…Douglas?’ 

Unreadable obsidian orbs met his own and Blaine forgot how to breathe.

                ‘Are you OK?’

The concern on the older man’s face melted into his eyes, warming them to molten chocolate, and Blaine took a shaky breath.  He _needed_ to know like he needed oxygen to live.

                ‘Yes…I, uh…I just wanted to know…Are we OK?’

He cringed a little at how young he sounded.  Douglas was always so put together – so _adult -_ and Blaine could not seem to get coherent sentences out when he was around him.

                ‘Of course.  Why wouldn’t we be?’

                ‘I just suddenly had this thought that maybe I said something last night or…that maybe I messed things up?’

Douglas laughed then and the sound was musical.  Blaine felt his shoulders relax.

                ‘We are just fine, Blaine.  And no – you didn’t really say much at all because you fell asleep in the cab.’

He felt the blush flare in his cheeks and something about the sight seemed to make Douglas catch his breath – his laughter dying and leaving a soft smile in its wake.

                ‘Blaine?’

                ‘Sorry.  I just – I’m glad I guess.  I had a bit much to drink and I was worried for a moment there.’

Douglas’ smile crinkles the corners of his eyes and Blaine’s heart rate kicks up a notch.  He clears his throat and licks his lips nervously.

                ‘I was wondering whether I could maybe take you out to dinner tonight?  As a thank you.  I mean – it’s Boxing Day – so I have no idea if we can even get a table anywhere but –‘

                ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’  Douglas cuts off Blaine’s rambling.  ‘You don’t have to thank me you know.’

                ‘I want to.’

                ‘So, where were you thinking?’  Douglas puts down the pencil he has been fiddling with and folds his arms.  Blaine tries not to notice the way the muscles in his arms flex.

                ‘Uh…I have no idea.  I don’t really know New York too well.  Where would you suggest?’

                ‘Leave it with me, OK?’

Blaine nods then busies himself by clearing plates and mugs away from the table to distract himself from the confusing messages his body and mind were presently duelling over, because his body was presently winning and Blaine desperately needed to regroup.

 

-+-

 

                They end up going to a tiny little place that Blaine is certain he would never be able to find again, just as he is certain that Douglas chose it to ensure it would be in Blaine’s budget.  The food, however, is exceedingly good – Lebanese – and they each order a couple of mezes knowing without having to discuss it that the intention is to share.  It feels long overdue, although in reality it has only been a couple of days, but they take the time to learn a bit about each other over dinner.  They talk about Douglas’ family business and how he established the New York branch.  They talk about Blaine’s career goals – but Blaine steers clear of talking about school or anything that he feels emphasises the difference in their ages.  They talk politics and Blaine takes pride in being able to hold an _adult_ debate.  The conversation moves quickly and easily from there to gay rights and both get passionate about progress, and how much things have changed since Douglas was a boy.  Blaine knows enough from Doug and Cooper to steer clear of discussing family.

The second bottle of wine brings talk of failed relationships, and after the third, Blaine finds himself telling Douglas all about Kurt and Eli and the events that led to his shoeless appearance on Douglas’ doorstep.  The older man listens but does not offer sympathies – he remains strangely quiet and thoughtful throughout Blaine’s admission.  It feels cathartic to Blaine – like he is being given a clean slate.  The topic dies a little and Blaine fumbles for a new one – the wine is starting to affect him more than he had realised, and he feels giddy.  Chocolate eyes meet his and Blaine loses all track of what he was saying so that when Douglas speaks, it takes Blaine quite a while to process.

                ‘Stay longer.’

It is a statement – another almost-command, and Blaine does not let himself over analyse.  He agrees, and as quickly as the topic had changed it changes again.

 

-+-

 

                Blaine is mildly surprised when Douglas actually lets him pay – he had half expected Douglas to do the uncle thing and to insist on paying even though Blaine had been the one to instigate dinner.  The gesture makes Blaine feel warm inside – underneath it means that Douglas considers him an equal. 

They walk back – warm-blooded with alcohol against the bitter December cold – and he is not sure whether it is the conversation flowing so easily between them, or whether it is another side-effect of the wine, but it takes them less time than he expected to get back to the penthouse.  Blaine leans into Douglas’ side as the architect wraps a steadying arm around his young companion’s waist in the elevator – he is engulfed by the spicy citrus of the other man’s cologne and Blaine finds himself wondering whether he chose it for _him_.  He feels lightheaded and relaxed, loosed limbed and _happy_ , and for a moment he actually thought Douglas was going to kiss him when he leant in to say goodnight.  Douglas embraces him in a one-armed hug and Blaine feels his stomach flip as he watches Douglas head for the other end of the penthouse.  He makes his own way to his room, feeling the ghost of the other man’s breath against his neck.  The room spins slightly but he manages to hang on to the bed long enough to climb in.  He only realises that he is smiling when he feels the ache in his cheeks.


	9. The Precipice

### The Precipice

                Blaine meets Sylvia the next morning.  He had expected to find Douglas in his “usual” spot at the table and had jumped about a foot in the air when he had discovered a tiny white haired woman in her 60s instead of the strong scent of coffee and spice that accompanied the majestic older man.  Sylvia simply laughed at him and Blaine immediately liked her. 

                ‘He’s at work, dear.  I’m guessing that he didn’t let you know to expect me in the morning?’

Her voice is soft but strong, and she smiles at him when he shakes his head, unable, temporarily, to control his tongue or breathing enough to speak.

                ‘Typical.  Men – you’re all useless!  I’m Sylvia, the housekeeper.  You must be the young Mr. Anderson.’  She looks him up and down, and Blaine feels himself straighten under her scrutiny.  ‘Come on then – let’s get you fed.’

She cooks him a “Full English” breakfast and he falls a little bit in love with her cooking, though a small part of him yearns for the simplicity of a simple bacon roll and strong coffee.  They chat throughout breakfast, and when Sylvia discovers that Blaine has yet to see much more than his temporary bedroom, the open-plan kitchen/diner and the large main bathroom, she takes him on a guided tour of the rest of the apartment.  The place is much larger than he had imagined: 4-bedrooms and 5 entertaining rooms – it even has a separate library, complete with a little galleried landing.  The biggest surprise comes when Sylvia shows him the separate 2-bedroom “Guest Apartment”.  Blaine suddenly feels incredibly intimidated and confused – why does Douglas have so much space when he lives by himself? 

Sylvia leaves around midday and Blaine spends his time curled up in an antique red leather wingback chair with his thoughts, a T.G. Green mug of coffee, and a sweet-smelling well-thumbed copy of Frederico García Lorca’s poetry in the original Spanish. 

_¿Quién segó el tallo_

_de la luna?_ _  
(Nos dejó raíces_

_de agua.)_

_  
¡Qué fácil nos sería cortar las flores_

_de la eterna acacia!_

The heat leaches from the coffee into his fingers and the old tome is heavy in his lap - it helps to ground him as his thoughts meander, interspersed as they are with fragments of poetry and bitter-sweet sips.  The light, though Winter-cold and cool in tone, is perfect for reading.  He curls his legs under himself, and slowly, slowly he lets himself begin to properly process the events of the past few days. 

_Se mueren de amor los ramos._   
  
_La noche de anís y plata_   
_relumbra por los tejados._   
_Plata de arroyos y espejos._   
_Anís de tus muslos blancos._   
  
_Se mueren de amor los ramos._

He stumbles through darkness – fierce Anger, aching Hurt, brutal Betrayal, and shattering Doubt all vying for equal attention.  His mind is filled with the buzzing of a thousand thoughts, like wasps, they swarm – crawling beneath his skin, too tight and hot/cold.  Hot/cold.  Hot/cold.  His breath comes in stuttering shudders and wetness moistens his cheeks – drip, drip, drip.  But he is safe here with the books and the thick, dusty smell of vanilla.  He is safe here.  But he cannot stay here forever.  Eventually he has to return to the reality of his world before Douglas.  He cannot stay in this fairytale.

_Se mueren de amor los ramos._

 

-+-

 

                Douglas finds him curled, and tiny, in the library, fast asleep.  The light is fading fast with the day and the long shadows emphasise the length of the boy’s eyelashes, as they lie fanned out across his cheekbones.  He looks so very young in sleep - his skin glowing pale in the dying light, his lips slightly parted. 

He cannot bring himself to wake the lad. 

Eventually he manages to tear his eyes away from the still form of the Adonis before him, and retires to the kitchen.

 

-+-

It is completely dark when he wakes – his eyes feel puffy and his lips dry.  Blaine stretches tortured and cramped limbs slowly, teasing knots from muscles.  He feels his way to the door without incident then makes his way through the corridor towards the light spilling from the kitchen. 

Douglas in a tailored grey suit is something to behold – he has removed his jacket and is cooking; his back to Blaine.  The waistcoat emphasises the broadness of his shoulders and his narrow waist - the silk at the back clinging across the expanse as he moves.  His shirt sleeves are rolled to his elbows – Blaine spots the wink of cufflinks on the counter top next to a discarded silk tie – and he finds himself staring, fascinated by this version of Douglas. 

He makes his way over to the table, which is devoid (for once) of blue-prints, and makes a point of scraping the chair slightly as he draws it back so that Douglas is made aware of his presence.  The man in question turns and Blaine’s breath catches a little at the sight of Douglas with his top button undone revealing the long, pale column of his neck. 

                ‘How was work?’  Blaine is secretly glad that, for once, he manages to sound casual.

                ‘Busy.  It’s always hectic after a holiday – the clients get edgy when the office is shut.’  He sounds tired and Blaine has to physically stop himself from getting up to embrace the man.

                ‘I guess that’s a good thing though?  Better than it being too quiet.’

                ‘Exactly.’  Douglas smiles and turns back to move a pan of something from the hob.

Blaine catches the smell of vegetables as Douglas drains the cooking water away and he wonders what is in store and how often Douglas cooks for more than one. 

                ‘Get up to much?  Sorry I forgot to tell you I’d be back at work today…’  Douglas lets the statement trail off, leaving Blaine to fill-in the unspoken implications.

                ‘I just did a bit of reading.’

Blaine is certain that Douglas would be able to see the redness of his eyes but Douglas, ever the gentleman, does not call him out on it.  He watches Douglas plate up – the aroma of the roast chicken causing his mouth to water and he suddenly realises how hungry he was.

                ‘Can I help with anything?’  Blaine kicks himself mentally for not asking sooner, but thankfully Douglas merely smiles and shakes his head.

 

-+-

 

                The next few days pass smoothly and all too quickly for his liking – Blaine seems to fit so neatly and effortlessly into Douglas’ life.  They grab breakfast together at a tiny little café on the riverfront run by an elderly Italian couple – coffee and a Danish pastry with the day’s paper, then Blaine walks Douglas to the office before setting off to explore the sights New York has to offer.  They meet for lunch at a different address each day – usually a quirky little venue where they grab a “slice” or a sandwich and Douglas makes Blaine tell him about his adventures that morning then delights in suggesting activities to occupy Blaine for the afternoon.  Blaine enjoys his outings as a proper tourist but there is always a part of him that is permanently on edge when he nears certain areas of the city where he may run into someone he knows. 

He never does.

As the sun begins to set Blaine heads back to Douglas’ offices (the reception staff quickly know him by name) and he waits with Douglas’ PA, Penny, chattering about the latest celebrity gossip until Douglas emerges from his last client meeting of the day.  From there the pair head straight to the Club for a drink (which always turns into a couple) before heading back to Douglas’ to cook (or via somewhere where they can grab something “to go” on the way if Douglas has had a particularly hard day). 

                On New Year’s Eve, Douglas has to work – a particularly important client from China had flown over specifically for a face-to-face, Blaine spends his day discovering Central Park.  He had been disappointed when Douglas had broken the news that he would not be around for their usual lunch, and that he would probably not be home until after 11pm.  He had seemed genuinely remorseful, but Blaine had understood – _business was business_ , at least that’s what everyone always said.   It had not made it feel any less painful.  He had been surprised that he had not been asked to accompany Douglas but the thought had been immediately quashed by a darker one -

                _As what exactly, Blaine?  Douglas can’t exactly take a_ teenager _to a business dinner with him without an explanation.  You are not a couple.  Stop acting like a child.  You’re getting attached.  He is not yours.  He’s a grown man who owns a business, who has been more than generous letting you stay with him after you screwed your life up.  If anything you are an inconvenience who is outstaying his welcome._

So when he had received a text message from Charlie he had not hesitated to welcome the distraction.

 **Charlie:** Anders!  8pm my place?  Or have you got plans?  ;)

 **Blaine:** I’m sure I can find a way to join you.  ;-)  What are you thinking? - B

 **Charlie** : Wear something cute – I’m popping your clubbing cherry.

 **Blaine:** What makes you think I’m a clubbing virgin, Charlie? - B

 **Charlie:** Seriously?

 **Blaine:** I’ve been clubbing before. - B

 **Charlie:** Not in NY, baby.  See you at 8.  Remember – wear something cute – I never pay for my own drinks, Anders.

 **Blaine:** I’m not exactly 21…and my fake ID is not exactly up to NY standards… :-S - B

 **Charlie:** Leave all that to Uncle Charlie. x

 

-+-

 

                The club in question is in a converted church and Blaine can appreciate the irony of the building’s repurpose to gay bar.  The interior is covered in gothic art and neon pink crucifixes which make Blaine feel more than a little uncomfortable, until the first few drinks anyway.  Charlie had not been joking when he said that he never bought his own drinks – a policy he takes very seriously and enforces upon Blaine the instant they are inside.

                ‘The thing is, Anders – we are two, very attractive young men in New York, and they,’ he makes a sweeping gesture that incorporates most of the rest of the men on the dance floor, ‘they _want_ to thank us.’

                ‘Thank us?’  Blaine has to shout his question over the heavy drum and bass music and he has a feeling he will not be able to talk tomorrow.

                ‘For allowing them to, of course.’

Blaine frowns slightly and Charlie, clad in skin tight leather trousers and a slim-fit emerald green shirt which has the effect of making his eyes positively glow, simply winks at him slyly. 

                ‘Watch and learn, Anders!’

He follows his blonde friend to the bar and watches as Charlie leans onto the polished silver surface so that the material of the shirt is drawn tightly across his shoulders and his leather-clad ass is on display.  Blaine swallows nervously as he watches – he still has no idea what Charlie said to the bouncer but Blaine had not been asked for ID, and he certainly did not look 21, even if he had put effort into what he was wearing.  Charlie had taken one look at his original outfit – the best he could do with the limited clothing he had packed to come up to New York originally (he had arranged for Burt to drop off his things at Douglas’ office earlier in the week feeling that a face-to-face would be too embarrassing and emotional) – and had forced him to change.  Though Charlie was a little taller, they were actually a very similar build and fortunately Charlie’s clothes had fit Blaine.  The result was that Blaine was now dressed in extremely tight (even for him) black jeans, and a form-fitting blood red shirt which made him feel self-conscious and on display. 

Blaine has no idea how Charlie does it but somehow after a minute or so, the blonde is heading back towards Blaine with two drinks and two men in tow.  Thanking the men for the first drink is awkward, but Charlie handles most of the talking – he gets close to the shorter of the two men on the pretence of being able to be heard over the music – and Blaine awkwardly sips at the drink (amoretto sour) whilst the taller man watches him. 

                ‘Anders, this is Taylor!’  Charlie shouts as a way of introducing Blaine to the man who apparently bought him a drink, ‘and this is Mike!’, before he returns his attention back to “Mike”.  Mike seems to enjoy how close Charlie is and it is not long before Charlie takes Mike’s hand and leads him to the dance floor, giving Blaine a look as he passes.

Blaine finishes his drink and, not really wanting to be left alone with a man he does not know and risk losing Charlie so early in the evening, motions for Taylor to follow him to the crowded dance floor.

 

-+-

 

                He has no memory of getting back to the penthouse but he appreciates how it has started to feel like “home”.  He takes a moment to admire the carving on the ornate double doors that have come to represent everything that Blaine has started to _love_ about New York before opening them and entering the apartment.  His vision swims a little and he tries his best to be stealthy as he heads towards his room when he recalls that Douglas may be back from his business dinner, and may be sleeping. 

                ‘I was starting to worry.’

The concern and relief in Douglas’ voice is palpable and Blaine finds himself smiling at the sound.  He spins to face the taller man in time to catch the almost predatory look and slight flush of what he recognises as arousal that flickers across Douglas’ features as he takes in Blaine’s appearance.  After a night of not paying for a single drink Blaine has become very aware, very quickly, how attractive he apparently is.  It is a novel concept and not one that he has particularly put much thought into before.  However, now, high on life and revved up from a number of downright dirty dances (that got _dirtier_ as the evening progressed) he feels keenly the _want_ that rages through his teenage system.  He leans seductively against the wall and gives Douglas a look that could only be described as smouldering (or as Charlie dubbed it: his ‘fuck-me-eyes’). 

                ‘How was dinner?’

His voice is gravely with having spent the evening shouting, and he notices Douglas swallow at the timbre. 

                ‘Good - Mr. Youxi was very grateful and we won the business.’  Douglas pauses and Blaine licks his lips.  ‘You look…you look like you had an interesting evening.’

                ‘I did.’  Blaine purrs.  ‘Charlie took me out.  It was eye opening.’

                ‘I see.’

Blaine smiles through his eyelashes and catches Douglas’ dark eyes with his own.  Blaine’s heart is racing in his chest and his motions feel slow, as if he is moving though treacle by the light of a strobe machine.  He pushes himself from the wall and steps towards Douglas, gripping his bicep with his cold hand.  He feels Douglas shiver slightly from the contact or the chill – he is not certain – but a little thrill ripples through Blaine in response.  Douglas’ eyes are unreadable but Blaine is too drunk to notice – all he knows is that there is _something_ between them; something he did not feel with any other man in that club that evening; something he wants to understand desperately.  Douglas does not move and Blaine takes it as an invitation.  He leans in as he had watched Charlie do numerous times that evening, and he is certain that Douglas has stopped breathing as he gently presses his body in closer.  The scent of _Douglas_ surrounds and envelops him and he ghosts a kiss across the taller man’s pulse point.  He feels Douglas shift slightly as he subconsciously bares his neck to Blaine’s lips and something inside Blaine unravels – he presses his lips to the other man’s neck and kisses gently.  He feels Douglas’ chest as the other man’s breathing quickens and Blaine can smell the alcohol on their breaths mingling.  He pulls Douglas closer until their bodies are pressed together and sucks and nibbles the other man’s pulse point.  One of them moans – Blaine has no idea whom – but the noise is so hot, and Blaine kisses up Douglas’ jaw towards the other man’s lips.  He revels in the scrape of stubble against his lips and teeth, and he finds himself rolling his hips against Douglas’ as they crash backwards together against the wall behind Douglas.  Blaine presses into him and their lips brush each other’s as Douglas finally moves – but not in the way Blaine expects.  Blaine finds himself crashing into the wall as Douglas moves out from under him. 

                ‘God, I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, Blaine. I should… I’m…I’m going to go to bed.  OK?  I’m so sorry.  I should never have… I’m sorry -’

Blaine frowns in confusion, his body aching from the sudden lack of contact.

                ‘Douglas, wait!’  He shouts as the other man retreats.  He follows and tries to take Douglas’ hand but the other man pulls away.  ‘What’s wrong?  Did I do something wrong?’

                ‘No, Blaine.  This is wrong.  All of this.  I can’t…’ 

                ‘Can’t _what_?  Enjoy yourself?’  Douglas refuses to meet Blaine’s eyes and he can feel frustration and confusion bubbling though his lust and alcohol flushed veins.

                ‘Don’t…’

                ‘Don’t _what_ , Douglas?’

                ‘Blaine…’ 

                ‘No.  Tell me what’s going on because a moment ago you were into this.  Tell me that I’m wrong – tell me that you don’t want me.’

                ‘Blaine, please…’

                ‘Please, what?’  The bubbles are roaring now, and Blaine feels himself shaking slightly.

                ‘Let me be strong, Blaine.’

                ‘You aren’t denying it.’

                ‘You are a child, Blaine!’ 

The words feel like a cane to his back and he struggles to breathe through the tears prickling in the corners of his eyes.

                ‘I’m just some innocent little school boy that you saved to you aren’t I?  God, I’m so stupid!’  Blinded he heads for the door – he finds he needs air, the sight of Douglas refusing to meet his eyes suddenly makes him feel sick.

He feels a hand wrap around his forearm but he pulls free.

                ‘Blaine, stop – we should talk about this!’  Douglas’ voice is cracked and desperate but Blaine cannot bring himself to face him.

His pulse roars in his ears and for the second time in as many weeks Blaine finds himself running away.  He finds himself back at the bar from earlier as the countdown begins.  He lets himself be swept into the crush of bodies.  He lets the roar of the crowd drown out his thoughts.  He lets himself be lost.

_¿Quién segó el tallo_

_de la luna?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -+-
> 
> Author’s note: The poem first quoted is ‘Acacia’ by Lorca. English translation:
> 
> -+-
> 
> Who reaped the stem
> 
> of the moon?
> 
> (We left roots
> 
> of water.)
> 
>  
> 
> How easy we would cut the flowers
> 
> of eternal acacia!
> 
> -+-
> 
> The second is a fragment from Lorca’s ‘Serenata’. English translation:
> 
> -+-  
> The branches die of love.
> 
> The night of anise and silver  
> shines over the rooftops.  
> Silver of streams and mirrors  
> Anise of your white thighs. 
> 
> The branches die of love.


	10. Hangover

### Hangover

                He is numb to the wind’s jellyfish-esque attempts to sting his eyes and cheeks with freezing tentacles that are almost tangible; he can no longer feel his fingers or nose anymore - but he needs the fresh air.  He needs to sober up.  He needs to think. 

Douglas does not expect to actually be able to spot Blaine from the balcony – no, he’s long gone by now – Douglas is blind to the external wold of his surroundings anyway, lost and stumbling in his mind’s eye as he is.  Unseeing eyes dart frantically as Douglas fumbles through the tortured mess he made of the past seconds?, minutes?, hours? – he cannot be sure.  Time is at once gelatinous and fluid in his present state – lapping at him then crashing over him, drowning him.  He cannot breathe – his lungs ache with panic, frustration, anger, and fear.  Little demons pawing at him – rocks tied to his limbs, pulling him under tormented thoughts. 

He should never have had that last drink.  Perhaps, he should not have had the one before it.  Or, not drunk at all! 

_So foolish – I should have stopped this days ago._

_~ But you didn’t.  You didn’t want to. ~_

He feels like a man shipwrecked – all the wind has been stolen from his sails now, adrift and listless.  Douglas had felt guilty leaving Blaine to make his own entertainment on New Year’s Eve - he was surprised how quickly he had become accustomed to Blaine’s presence in his life.  For _months_ he had felt as if he was merely drifting, coasting along directionless and alone.  He had found no pleasure in his work and he had shunned colleagues and friends alike making excuses to avoid social interactions where he would be forced to recognise the successes and happiness of others – each proclamation affirmation of his own pathetic existence.  Things had gone from bad to worse when Roger had barged his way back into his brother’s life – a living, breathing reminder of how Douglas’ life _should have been_.  If he were a better son.  If he were straight.

Blaine had shone like a lighthouse at the Andersons’ party, and though Douglas had not even spoken to him, he had somehow imparted some light back into Douglas’ darkness.  He had returned from Roger’s with a more positive attitude towards both his work and social lives – he had actually tackled his projects with something resembling enthusiasm.  But he had never quite gotten the beautiful boy with the golden eyes out of his mind.

When Doug had called him, Douglas had not even thought to refuse Blaine help, and in the days that followed, Douglas had expected to find the pedestaled illusion he had created in the lad’s image from fragments of gleaned information wanting.  He had not expected to _feel_ for Blaine. 

~ _To fall for him.~_

It had all happened so quickly and so gradually that it had taken him by surprise – dinners and lunches and easy conversations, light touches, and warm gestures.  He had not expected Blaine to fit so easily into his life that he had built in New York.  No one else had – what were the odds that a teenager could do what _men_ had been unable to?

Douglas realises that he is pacing and forces himself to stop.  He leans heavily on the balustrade and attempts to clear his mind of the dwelling, circling thoughts.  He brings himself back to the present day – to the events which led Blaine to flee him.

The day had gone so well and he had won the business – the contract was worth _billions_ , not to mention the added reputational bonus the Chinese venture would provide.  Dingxiang Youxi had chosen Douglas’ design over all of those tendered by rival firms – the design was a labour of love for Douglas – he had worked on it solidly since the request for designs had gone out.  It had been a wondrous distraction – the perfect project to take his mind away from youthful copper and honey and the building was to be his greatest work – towering gracefully over the skyline, an endless testimony to passion and his lasting legacy.  When Dingxiang had announced his trip to New York Douglas had scarcely dared to breathe, to dream – this deal meant that he had truly gained international recognition for his work, despite his father’s continual assertions that he had no great skill or talent.  Despite his father’s rejection, Douglas had done what his father had not, yet rather than leaving him elated Douglas had felt hollow somehow.  So he had accepted the congratulatory champagne, and the celebratory white wine that Mr. Youxi had brought with him –

‘To New Years and new beginnings!’

\- and he had eaten only enough to be considered polite. 

He was not sure why he had expected Blaine to be home when he had returned – but, upon finding the penthouse empty, he had been overcome with a feeling of remorse and guilt that he could not understand.  He had put it down to too much alcohol, to which he was not accustomed, and too little food, and had been about to retire when he had heard the sound of footsteps.  He had instantly recognised the footfall as Blaine’s and he recalled feeling out of breath and dry-mouthed.

The gorgeous creature before him had stolen what remaining breath he had together with his better judgement.  Blaine had been right to be confused because Douglas had _wanted_ him then.  He had wanted him from the very beginning.  Sweet lips and soft skin had overwhelmed him and he had been utterly powerless in the moment.  Unable to be the rash, mature adult Blaine had needed him to be, Douglas had let himself be lost in Blaine’s inebriated and misguided passion.

Nausea struck him, gloved and merciless, but Douglas fought it down.  He was the lad’s acting guardian and he had taken advantage of his young charge when he had been in a vulnerable emotional place.  Disgusted with himself, he found that he was shaking. 

                ~ _Your father was right – you are useless and good-for-nothing, Douglas Graeme Chambers.  He probably never wants to see you again.  And why should he? ~_

A distant alarm called him from his spiralling thoughts – it took him longer than perhaps it should to recognise the ringtone of his phone.  He made his way back into the dark room and fumbled in his coat pockets for the vibrating cell.  Numb fingers took a while to register on the touchscreen and he missed the call.  Unlocking it the number revealed explained everything.

**1 Missed Call from Benedict Charles**

 

-+-

 

                He is surrounded by the press of writhing bodies – sticky with sweat and alcohol and sweet with musk and arousal.  They surge against him like waves; pulling at him, stroking him, grinding against him.  He feels, more than hears, music over the sounds of hooting, cheering and shouting – a tribal force through his heart and veins that pulls his feet to the beat like a pied piper.  His hand is never empty long – bottles and strange shaped glasses filled with exotic looking liquids of every colour.  He has lost all sense of smell and taste – he is a mess of raw fibres now; he feels.  It burns with delicious fury.  It is easy to get lost in the swarm – the lights reduce faces to angular flashes of distorted colour – eyes, teeth, hair, jaw, lips.  The feel of lips at his pulse.  The feel of hips against the swell of his ass.  Hands in the dip of his back.  The hard press of arousal against his thigh.  A hand pulling his.  Insistent.  Up, up, up to the surface. 

The cold hits him like a sledge hammer and the sudden _lack_ of everything – sound, heat, bodies, music, voices – slaps him hard.  He throws up violently – liquid, only liquid – until he is empty.  Then there is the sharp of the floor on his palms – dulled knives in pillows: distant and far away.  Then there is darkness and echoes of familiar voices.  Then nothing.  Nothing.

 

-+-

 

                His mouth is cotton wool, his stomach a thrashing sea monster, and his head is simultaneously on fire, under water, and the punching bag of an extremely angry gorilla.  He barely has time to register that his limbs work before he finds himself in the bathroom acquainting himself with porcelain.

He rinses the bitter bile from his mouth with tap water and winces at the blurry, bloodshot mess in the mirror. 

The shower’s operational difficulty level has miraculously increased by itself and the floor is uneven but he manages to take a shower, and towels himself dry before another attack of nausea has him back on the floor retching up nothing into the toilet bowl.

Eventually he heaves himself up from the warm tiles with noodle limbs, and attempts to make his way back to the safety of pillows and blankets.  Bacon and coffee smack him in the face – both are too strong – they have no right to be so pungent.  The fridge is too loud and the clock insults him with each persistent tick, but he makes it into the kitchen before he remembers _why_ he is in the state he is in.  His brain helpfully forgot to remind him until he was face-to-face with Douglas about his New Year’s activities – confirming Blaine’s suspicion that it was a traitor and was only interested in feeding itself.  His stomach lurches as the smell of food finally reaches it and he barely makes it back to the bathroom in time – not that there is actually anything else left in his system to bring back up.

He does not expect the firm, gentle hand on his back rubbing soothing circles – he expects raised voices and Disappointment.  He expects to be thrown out, not to be fed and looked after.

It should feel patronising but this is the care of a friend not of a parent.  This is tenderness.  This is understanding and forgiveness, and Blaine wants to hate Douglas for it.

 

-+-

 

                They do not talk about what happened – it should be strained, but it is not.  Both are in as much denial as the other.  They go back to their easy schedule – Blaine sightseeing and Douglas working.  But their nights find them tossing and turning in separate beds to images of red silk, suits, and the feel of desperate lips and stubble. 

Returning to Lima feels like a betrayal and the thought is more confusing to Blaine than it should be.  He should be happy to be home with his family and friends again.  No one asks him about what happened with Burt but his mother sends Douglas a thank you card and makes Blaine sign it.  Blaine cannot explain why the act makes him laugh hysterically for an hour after she suggests it – but he signs it anyway.

                Lima is not New York.  _Obviously_.  But the fact had not hit him until he returned to Lima of how _tiny_ and _insignificant_ everything is there.  Nothing is as urgent or important.  It all seems watered down and, if he is honest, childish.  His friends seem childish – their petty squabbles and talk of Christmas presents, and holiday activities bore him to his core, but he does not share his experiences of New York with them - the good or the bad. 

He feels restless.  He studies hard – he _needs_ to get into Columbia.  He wants to impress Douglas – he wants to prove that he is adult and worthy of his time.  _Of him._   He devotes all of his energy to his studies and to being the best he can be at everything.  He becomes the epitome of perfection during the day – grades, manners, style.

The nights make his skin crawl.  He retreats at home – growing irritable and snappy when his mother attempts to find out about his day.  He finds her attention cloying and babying - his perfect grades prevent his father taking harsh action for his withdrawal from family life.  He is, after all 19 – he cannot be mothered forever. 

Energy crackles under his skin and he feels as if he is losing his mind.

                It is Sebastian who calls him out on his behaviour; but Sebastian is easily distracted.  Blaine does not have to try hard to convince his friend to accompany him to a club in the next city over.  He feels alive the second the music courses through him and he eases himself into the press of bodies.  He lets it surge through him – erasing and cleansing him.  He finds it oddly cathartic – at once a reminder and a punishment.

The first night out is a success and for a short time afterwards Blaine feels calmer – more focused.   But then the itch returns.  His mind is a hive of hornets and wasps and bees.  He prickles without provocation and it is Sebastian who drags him out.  But it is not Sebastian who starts the fight.

 

-+-

 

                He lost his phone somewhere between deflecting the empty bottle that had been aimed at his friend’s head, and the bouncer forcibly ejecting him from the club.  Afterwards he learns that the bullock of a man who had attacked Sebastian had done so because of a misunderstanding – Blaine’s friend had been getting a little too intimate with the meat-mountain’s boyfriend and the man had decided to take it upon himself to teach the younger man a lesson with the business end of a beer bottle.

It is an experience Blaine never wants to repeat – being delivered to his parents’ house in a police car.  His mother is a whirlwind of tears, anger and ferocious disappointment and seems unable to understand that Blaine was actually _defending_ his friend not _fighting_.  His father is more helpful and focuses on talking with the police and Sebastian’s father.  Blaine sends sincere thanks to whoever is up there that Sebastian’s father is a state attorney – no charges are being levelled against Blaine.

The early hours are emotional – Blaine’s mother, exhausted, retires upon his father’s insistence at some point in the lecture that follows the police and Smythes’ departures.  Bill is angry and disappointed but Blaine can handle that because ultimately, if he had not stepped in, Sebastian would be, at best, in the hospital. 

Sleep escapes him – he is too wired – adrenaline and anxiety course through him and he finds himself on his laptop.  Reddit, Tumblr, Facebook – he finds tiny distractions, amusing gifsets, anecdotes.  He has not indulged in this procrastination for _months_ and there are memes to catch up on.  Then he notices something – actually, the lack of something; there are no posts from Sam, or Finn, or Artie... _or Kurt_ ….and it hits him hard then – how much has changed in such a short time.  All because of one mistake.  All because he answered a stupid Facebook message when he was feeling lost, undesirable, forgotten and left behind.  He almost breaks the laptop with the sudden need to be rid of it.  He pulls his knees up to his chest and tries to stop himself from falling apart.

He reaches for his cell – but he lost it in the scuffle.  He remembers then the blood and the glass – his knuckles are bruising from where his punches connected.  He traces the rust coloured patterns – soon they will be purples, then greens and yellows.  Do bruises really ever completely fade?

If the bouncers had not intervened when they had he has no idea what would have happened – the mountain’s friends would have likely joined in he supposes.  The thought makes him feel nauseous.  He needs to talk to someone – someone who has seen him at his worst and did not abandon him.  Someone who will still listen and understand even though it has been weeks – he makes his way to the kitchen and uses the landline to dial a number he hopes is right – he has no way to check.

It rings, rings, rings.  Click.

                ‘Blaine?’  His name is a soft sigh and Blaine’s wall crashes down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well - that's the end of the first part! Sorry this took so long to update - I was on holiday visiting my mum in Florida! I'm back now, however, so I'll be back to making regular updates. The next part should be up by this time next week.
> 
> I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their comments, kudos, and support so far - you are all amazing and I love you. <3  
> It really means everything to me, so - thank you.
> 
> I hope this story continues to keep you intrigued and interested. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> Love, always.  
> x-X-x


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